


Never the Same

by ScarletDevil1503



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 50,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDevil1503/pseuds/ScarletDevil1503
Summary: After a survey mission goes terribly wrong, a human is captured by the First Order and given a choice that will leave her never the same. This is a look into the life of a Stormtrooper who fell in love with Kylo Ren. Set not too long before The Force Awakens. [COMPLETE]





	1. Survey

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net. I always enjoy reading comments :)

C-1: Survey

As I sat facing the short snouted, blue skinned, horned alien before me, I decided it definitely wasn't my people skills that got me chosen for this mission. The awkward silence was filled with occasional snorts and my own desperate throat clearing. Eventually, my host made some excuse of checking on the crew and left me alone in the small observation deck of the cruiser.

I am accustomed to space. My people are a nomadic group of humans that study and catalog various phenomena for privatized research organizations. Our employers are usually from the Republic or other wealthy scientists, even some from the First Order. If the pay is good, we stop at nothing to complete our missions. Today, however, I was assigned a different type of mission: real estate.

My family belongs to the caste of diplomats. I've been trained my whole life for this type of work; I'm supposed to know what to say and when to say it. Key word: supposed to.

I raked my fingertips across my face, feeling the empty void in my stomach expand with each lightyear we put between us and the fleet. My fleet. Even the thought of living on the surface of a planet made my head spin.

"Representative Caltrel, we will soon enter the planet's atmosphere." My host, Javvik, had returned with a friendly snort. I thanked him while I gathered my things—canisters for air, water, and dirt samples and my imager.

A small team of Javvik's crew accompanied us as we departed the landing zone in a small freight speeder. The crew members, who hailed from various species across the galaxy (most of which I'd never seen in my life), held short-range blasters which made my nerves skyrocket. A lazy, warm breeze swept in some cloud cover as my host explained a few preliminaries about the planet. The sun facing side of the planet enjoyed temperate climates for 20-year cycles while the opposite side lay in devastating winter. He explained that it would be necessary to live in the temperate areas of the planet—for humans, that is.

Soon enough, we reached the perfect spot for some vegetation samples. Trees were scattered around a large lake that seemed to have swallowed up part of the forest. It was breathtaking actually, even though the clouds made me feel slightly claustrophobic.

I started an air analysis on my imager while I gathered some other samples from around the lake. Javvik stood nearby impatiently, and I could tell that his clients usually weren't so thorough. His usual buyers were miners or businessmen, not home hunters.

My eye caught the crew members when they began to stir and raise their weapons. Javvik shouted something in a language I supposed most of them knew, and the crew began to quiet. I continued my work.

Then, a few minutes later, I felt the entire ground lurch from some kind of impact. I caught my balance and whipped my head toward Javvik, who was just as slack jawed as I was. Following his line of vision, I looked across the lake—there was something rising from the murky water. My eyes narrowed. A warhead?

I heard the crackle of a loud voice over a speaker not a few seconds later. "This is the First Order. You are not cleared for this area. Leave immediately."

I nearly tripped over myself in my mad dash toward Javvik. He was barking something else to his crew. "We—we have to go," I breathed, my lungs heaving.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Javvik rumbled, worry in his yellow eyes. He turned toward the origin of the announcement and shouted in a weak voice, "I own the deed to this planet!"

Another order echoed from within the forest, closer this time. "This is your second and final warning. Clear the area now."

"Mr. Javvik." My knuckles were white on the strap of my shoulder bag. "We have to go."

He was conflicted, and delaying. I glanced around at the restless crew as they waited for their next cue.

A blast of red shot out from the trees and struck a crew member who had his weapon held ready. The alien squealed with pain and dropped his blaster, clutching his burnt arm. My heart leapt into my throat as I tore off in the direction of the speeder. I saw Javvik in my peripheral vision, hobbling after me.

The exchange of fire began almost immediately, filling the air with the sounds of high pitched discharges and scorching impacts. A tree ahead of me caught ablaze and I heard myself scream a curse. In what seemed like forever, I finally reached the speeder.

No sooner after I'd glanced at the complex controls that I had no ability to use, I felt a searing bolt of electricity hit my back. My body convulsed, teeth grinding, and then dropped limply to the metal floor of the speeder. Directly in my line of vision, I saw Javvik on the ground too, face blank and eyes full of fear. I wanted to scream, cry, or maybe die.

Voices drew near us, speaking through the static of respirators.

"These are the last, sir," said the first.

"Good job." I felt the ship dip to the side as two sets of white boots entered my limited vision of the deck. "We have to take one of them for questioning," the second continued.

"Which one?"

The second voice gave a dry laugh. "Isn't it obvious?"

I watched as the barrel of a blaster was placed against Javvik's head. If I had been able to, I would have screamed with all my might before I blacked out.


	2. Interrogation

C-2: Interrogation

The first thing that struck me as wrong was the dark room. I never woke during the night cycle unless my sister was kicking me in the back, and she moved off our homeship two years ago.

I sat up with a jerk, reaching for sheets or pillows or anything. My leg found the edge of the bed quickly and when my toes touched the cold floor, I froze.

I don't know where I am.

The coldness traveled up my leg, up my spine, until my whole body was covered in goosebumps. As my racing thoughts tried to make sense of the situation, the whole atmosphere seemed to change around me. The air smelt wrong, the temperature was a few degrees too low, and even the gravity felt different.

A planet. The First Order. Memories of the attack started aligning themselves in my brain, painting a gruesome and nightmarish scene. I felt cold, and it wasn't from the floor. My face seemed to be numb. I vaguely wondered if I was the only survivor.

After a few minutes of mental debate, I stood on shaky legs in an attempt to find a light. I heard nothing—no humming engines or droids buzzing down the hall. I sensed I was in a small space, and that was all. A light suddenly turned on after a few steps, forcing me to cover my eyes for a moment.

It appeared to be a vanity with a mirror and perhaps motion detecting lights. In my reflection, I noticed the gray jumper right away and wondered where my clothes—my samples, my imager—had been taken. I also noted a toilet in addition to my rectangular mattress, and a door with a small glass window on the empty wall.

I sprang for the door, grappling with anything that resembled a knob or lever on the dark metal to no avail. The square window was too high for me to see through, so I jumped and stole glimpses that way. A dark corridor, nothing else.

As I stepped away from the door, I pictured a group of Stormtroopers marching down the corridor. I'd seen the Resistance's vids of the First Order and they weren't pretty. I could only imagine what they did to their prisoners.

"A prisoner?" I heard my own voice whisper. Unconsciously, I clutched my arm and realized that it was quite sore. I must have hurt it somehow.

I nearly shrieked when I heard the snap of heavy gears turning, and I scattered away from the door as it opened. A human in a military uniform peered inside, not the white mask I'd been expecting. When his eyes found me cowering in a corner, he motioned to me.

"You, up. We need to ask you some questions." His tone was brisk and threatening.

Scrambling up, I walked toward him and let him bind my hands behind my back. Barely aware of what I was doing, I felt him guide me down the corridor from behind, his hand tight on my bindings. As we walked and walked down silent hallways, I felt my courage building.

"Where am I?" I asked in a barely-there voice.

"That is privileged information," he said reflexively.

I hadn't expected that. I was silent for several heartbeats. "Why am I here?"

He hesitated as if the question irritated him. "You invaded an area restricted by the First Order."

We were approaching a large door. I felt my pulse begin to race, filling my ears. "My friends, are they—"

The door snapped open with a loud clank, stealing the words from my throat. I was suddenly toe-to-toe with a looming figure so tall that I didn't even look up. I jerked backward, knocking into my warden who had apparently become a brick wall. His grip tightened, and my whole body shook as I stared at the floor.

"This is the last one?" a calm, mechanical voice asked. The figure stepped away, finally letting me breathe again.

"Yes, sir." The warden gave me a small shove so that the door closed behind us. Nearly paralyzed, I felt him guide me to the lone chair in the middle of the room. He fixed my bindings to the back of it and stepped away. I felt tears welling in my eyes.

The voice spoke again and said, "You may leave." The tone was friendly, and for a moment I thought it was directed at me. The warden gave a brief bow and exited my field of vision; the door snapped shut behind him.

Heavy footsteps circled from behind me and I blinked, resisting the stinging sensation in my eyes. My heart thundered in my ears, even louder than my ragged breathing, and my stomach twisted into knots upon knots. When the figure entered my vision, I couldn't look higher than its belt, which was thankfully void of weapons. When it stood directly in front of me, it stopped.

To my horror, the figure began to crouch until its masked face was right in front of mine. I nearly winced at the sight of it, taken with utter panic. There was a short pause that seemed to last minutes.

"You're afraid," the voice said, eerily soft.

I turned my head, overwhelmed and feeling tears come. "P—Please," I sputtered, squeezing my eyes shut.

A gloved hand placed itself on my chin and turned my head firmly, and my eyes popped open out of instinct. "Please what?" Soft, curious.

My throat closed up as if I'd swallowed glue. "Let me go," I choked out in a breath, more air than voice.

"I can't." The hand disappeared and I sensed two hands on the armrests of my chair. "You haven't answered my questions yet." A slight demanding tone replaced the softness.

"Any—anything." I felt a spark of hope at the thought of being released. "I'll tell you anything," I gasped out.

"Good," the voice said, its tone pleased. "Your name?"

I felt my voice returning. "Caltrel. Er—Lucia Caltrel."

"Your age?" No pause, all business.

"Twenty-four."

"Where are you from?"

"The Andromeda Fleet."

The voice hesitated and the helmet tilted slightly. "Nomadic?"

"Yes." I pressed my back tightly against the back of my chair, trying to get some distance from the uncomfortable proximity. Perhaps the figure noticed, because in the next second it leaned forward.

"What is a nomad doing in the Unknown Regions?" The friendliness was now obviously artificial.

I swallowed thickly. "My people—we need land to settle on. I was here to survey the planet."

"I see." The helmet nodded twice and I felt myself involuntarily relax at the human gesture. "Who were the others that were with you?"

"The land owner and his crew."

"Did you know them well?"

"No."

"That's fortunate."

A shiver traveled up my spine as I pictured the tragic scene in my mind once more. I was reminded of my fear and felt my heart resume its deafening pace.

"I have another question for you." Finally the figure stood, but kept close and folded its arms. "What did you see before you were attacked?"

"I saw a forest and a lake," I replied automatically, recalling. "And there was something in the lake."

"What did it look like to you?"

"A missile." I felt ice on my tongue after the words left my mouth. What am I thinking?

Though I almost missed it, I saw the figure straighten its back as if in surprise. "You saw a missile in the lake." It wasn't a question this time.

My eyes fell to the floor as the gravity of my mistake sunk in. I knew a secret that the First Order didn't want me to know. I had just signed my own death sentence! I felt the possibility of release grow smaller and smaller until it vanished completely from my mind.

Before I knew it, the helmet was mere inches from my face. I startled backward, but my chair held fast.

"Don't worry," the voice said, its softness returned. "I would have found out eventually."

My skin crawled with tension that nearly cracked in the air around me. My voice was hoarse when I used it. "Please"—my voice dropped beneath a whisper—"I don't want to die."

Saying the actual words brought a fresh round of tears to my eyes. I felt my legs begin to shake.

A hand brushed away my tears as the voice said with genuine sympathy, "I know you don't."

Floodgates unleashed as I sobbed uncontrollably, dropping my head toward my heaving chest. My shoulders shook, my knees rattled together, and my touch with reality slipped away. I heard voices around me but nothing could stem the tide. Minutes passed without reason.

I soon felt chilly fingers on my temple, and then I slipped into dark relief.


	3. Choice

C-3: Choice

It felt like I was falling. My head was spinning, my feet were kicking as gravity pulled me down, down, down.

Or was it?

I could see nothing but darkness. My fingers scrabbled at a tight grip on my throat. It was cold and unforgiving, but the only thing keeping me from falling to my doom. My body became ice, immobile, and then—

Jerking awake, I felt my hands shoot to my throat to grapple with air. I let go of an anxious breath and blinked, struggling to find light. This time, a soft glow illuminated the room from the high window on the door. The door of my cell.

I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead as I sat up, reorienting myself to the strange atmosphere. It was heavy and cold. My stomach twisted when I thought of going home.

The vanity light clicked on as I walked passed it to relieve myself. Even though I knew I should be starving, I felt no appetite at all. Outside of my cell, the corridor was flooded with white light from some unknown source. A day cycle? My mind spun in circles as I tried to make sense of my environment.

A mechanical movement caught my ear, and I looked toward the ceiling to find a surveillance camera. Flushing immediately, I turned away and set my jaw. Of course I was being watched! A surge of annoyance washed away my fear for a moment, and I began to pace unconsciously.

Admittedly, I was surprised I was still alive. Bits of the interrogation reeled through my mind, tightening my chest with fright. I guessed that the First Order thought I knew more than I really did, and that they wanted the information from me. I chewed hard on my lip as I pictured more interrogations.

Soon enough I heard footsteps echoing down the corridor outside my cell. I froze, eyes darting around the room in search of hiding, cover, anything. I failed to move at all before the door clattered open.

It was the same officer as before, who motioned to me in much the same way. I followed him out of my cell, surprised by the lack of restraints. He didn't speak a word as I was led down a different set of corridors than before. Dread hit me like a smack in the face.

He led me into a room that looked like a cargo bay, with four armed Stormtroopers lined up on the far wall like statues. Ice poured through my veins as I was forced to my knees, back facing the firing squad. I heard the click and whir of blasters being activated as two words repeated themselves in my mind over and over again: notnownotnownotnow.

I heard buzzing in my ears. I tasted blood in my mouth. I couldn't breathe.

"Any final words?" I heard the warden say, sounding as if we were underwater.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my mind whirled like vortex. Think! THINK!

"I know names!" I shouted, my voice quivering as much as my body. "Resistance sci—scientists, researchers … I know what they—they're working on!"

I barely heard the officer say, "Stand down." I felt him move closer to me, but I couldn't see anything but swirling colors. "What names?" he asked me through the haze.

I sputtered, racking my brain over the delegates from several months ago. Every muscle in my body was on edge. I started coughing, trying not to empty the contents of my stomach.

A firm hand eased me up against the wall and I leaned back, forcing myself to calm. As my mind cleared, I heard the warden's voice, stern but also imploring. "I cannot guarantee your life, but your cooperation with the First Order will be rewarded."

I looked up, connecting eyes with the man for the first time. His face was almost desperate, and my heart thrilled at the sight. I'd found an advantage.

"General Elias from the Libra System … and Dax—Dax something from Coruscant. I know they are with the Resistance." I nodded repeatedly, feeling blood rushing back to my head.

Eyes widening, the officer turned to address the Stormtroopers. "Summon Ren." He returned his attention to me, his hand still on my shoulder. "You made a wise choice. Your fate now lies with my superiors." He then stepped away, allowing me a moment to breathe.

Surreal joy spread through me until a smile broke free on my lips. Letting my head fall back to the wall, I closed my eyes and let the sensation wash over me. I pulled air into my lungs and savored it. I'm alive.

Too soon, the Stormtroopers returned.

"Corporal?" a familiar mechanical voice addressed. The dark hooded figure from my interrogation glanced down at me as he faced the warden.

"Ren," my warden said, "the prisoner has provided names and locations of Resistance scientists."

"Leave us," Ren said to the Stormtroopers. He then stepped toward me with his arms behind his back. "Which are?"

The corporal repeated the names I'd given exactly as Ren crouched in front of me once more. Too tired to resist, I made no attempt at shrinking from the mask this time.

"Those are noteworthy individuals." Ren's voice wasn't quite as friendly as before—it was challenging. He didn't believe me.

I nodded, not quite knowing if I could actually prove my accusations. "It's true," I said hoarsely. "My fleet gathered thousands of grams of crystalized plasma from an asteroid belt for Elias."

The helmet tilted. "And Senator Dax?"

"We sold her star charts of some system."

"'Some system'?" The tone was incredulous, and I flinched when a gloved hand suddenly appeared before me. "I think you can do better than that."

I felt disoriented at first, like I had somehow been distracted in such a critical situation. Trying to refocus on the information, I winced when my mind was taken off somewhere again. I fidgeted, feeling not quite right in my own skin.

"What was Dax looking for?" Ren asked, almost insisting. I shook my head at a loss of words.

Suddenly he was there—right there—as if he had been there all along. I immediately felt my thoughts focus to a point and I was almost sitting in the conference room with Senator Dax all over again. I—or was it just Ren?—listened to every word that had been said in our meeting in a matter of seconds.

I finally remembered to breathe, and I felt my hands grab onto Ren's arm. "You're—You're in my mind," I strangled out.

He wasn't listening. "Now, what was Elias after?"

But my thoughts didn't shift to the general. My thoughts hovered on this machine of a man before me that had invaded my mind. I watched the visor of the helmet, absorbed with wonder at the power that seemed to emanate from it. After a few long moments I could have sworn I saw eyes staring back at me. I tried reaching back at the presence I felt in my mind, but it felt like running smack into a titanium bulkhead.

"Enough," his voice hissed through the filter. "Then—General Elias." I felt the presence anew, guiding my thoughts. Obediently I was led to my memories of my time in the Libra System.

This was no mere officer of the First Order—this was the leader. Though I had known all along, my mind now screamed of it. I instantly felt a loss of energy when he left my mind.

Ren turned to the warden. "Tell Hux to send a scouting ship to Telsa Prime in the Libra System. Also, to contact our man in the Senate. I'll be with him shortly."

The corporal jutted his fist into the air. "Sir!" he affirmed, and then left.

I stared up at the masked man, awaiting some kind of verdict. I felt my heartbeat now dull in my ears as the adrenaline worked its way out of my system. When the helmet turned toward me, my breath hitched.

"Get up," he instructed, and I complied on unsteady legs. "You were promised a reward?"

I nodded furiously. "I—yes." My breath came in shallow pants.

A businesslike tone replaced the coercive one from before. "You understand I cannot let you leave this planet."

The words slowly sank in, and I nodded. I knew too much; I was a liability to the First Order. My mind reeled with possible outcomes.

"I'll give you a choice that you're not going to like." Ren shifted and held his hands at his sides, as if anticipating resistance. "Your memories can be altered so that—"

"I'll join you," I blurted out before my mind could catch up. Ren fell silent and I felt a jolt of shock run through me. "I'll join the First Order."

I expected more surprise than I received. His tone was tight. "What would you—a nomad girl—have to offer the First Order?"

"Anything," I said immediately, "everything." I felt desperation rise in my chest. "I want to live, as I am now."

Ren neared me suddenly, towering over me as though to squash my defiance. I felt a quiver of fear run down my spine. He put a finger under my chin as before, and jerked my face upward. When he spoke, his voice was low and challenging through the filter. "Not twelve hours ago, you cowered before the First Order."

Excuses filled my thoughts immediately. "I feared for my life." My whispered words were not as strong as I intended them to be. "Would you not do the same?" I adding, trying to add a bit of challenge.

There was no hesitation in his response. "No." I could almost see his disapproving gaze through his voice.

He released me, and I swayed on my feet for a moment. I put a cool palm to my sweaty forehead and realized that I was trembling terribly.

"Remain here," Ren instructed, typing something into the control panel of the cargo bay door. "I must consult with my superior."

Not the leader, then. "I will. Er—sir." I winced at the word on my tongue, and he seemed to notice before he closed the door from the outside. I imagined for a moment what he thought of me—foolish, desperate, weak. I felt a rush of humiliation sweep over me.

It didn't matter. I was alive.


	4. Examination

C-4: Examination

It seemed like hours before anyone came to the cargo bay to release me. I didn't care. I passed the time by snooping around the crates of Stormtrooper gear and weapon casings, returning everything carefully to its place. Once I even caught myself humming unconsciously.

A Stormtrooper opened the door eventually and gestured me out into the corridor. He motioned to the protocol droid beside him. "This droid will guide you to Reconditioning and Placement. Supreme Leader's orders."

Gulping at the word "reconditioning," I looked up at the Stormtrooper who had a blaster strapped to his hip. He also wore a red shoulder guard. "What is—um, reconditioning?"

He shrugged. "School, basically."

That put me slightly at ease, and I let go of my breath in a huff. "Thanks," I said.

The Stormtrooper nodded and I wondered what his expression was like behind his helmet. "Oh, take this," he said, taking something from his belt. He handed me a small package of some kind. "It'll hold you over until dinner."

I took the package which had the words "Nutritional Supplementation," written across it. I felt a small smile on my face at the kindness. "Thank you," I said, hoping to sound as grateful as I felt.

After another nod, the Stormtrooper turned and left. The protocol droid extended a metallic arm down the corridor. "Right this way, ma'am," said its robotic voice.

I nibbled on the dense, square protein as the droid led me to a speed lift nearby. We descended twenty floors, and I read "Level 22" on the control panel as we exited. Doing the math in my head, I guessed we were about two hundred and fifty feet below ground.

We entered a massive room that I would have never guessed was underground. Around a hundred young men and women sat in front of computer terminals lined up on one half of the room. The other half appeared to be a shooting range and more storage space. Chattering filled the space as the students spoke into their headsets. They all wore the same gray jumpsuit as me.

"Please find an open terminal and apply the headgear," my droid told me. "The system will guide you through the testing process."

"Alright," I said, feeling a flutter of nerves at the thought of being left alone. "Droid, can you tell me about this place?" I asked.

The droid paused and I guessed it was accessing directives. "This facility is the secondary base of operations for the First Order. It is also the secondary training facility for Stormtroopers. It is also the site of construction for Project Starkiller."

I nodded, feeling my thoughts catch on the word "Stormtrooper." Was I to become one of the First Order's mindless soldiers? "Er—thanks," I said

"Of course," said the droid as it turned to walk away.

Thankfully, a whole row of empty terminals stood at the back of the room. I sat at the farthest one, already feeling glances from the students nearby. Releasing a tense sigh, I grabbed the interface helmet and dropped it on my head.

"Welcome to Reconditioning and Placement, Lucia Caltrel, designation ST-3138," a recorded human voice said, followed by a computer generation of my name. "Since you have no records in our database, you will now take a placement examination to calculate your skills and knowledge. Based on your results, you will be assigned a training program for your new position in the First Order."

I recalled a similar testing method used in the fleet. Though I had finished school several years before, I hoped that I remembered enough to at least become a Stormtrooper. Or maybe I didn't?

"Are you ready to begin?" the voice continued, and a prompt appeared on my monitor.

"Yes," I said, using voice commands like the other students.

The test began and seemed to never end. In the beginning, the questions were simple trivia about star charts, historic events, politics, and a host of other topics. I felt good about my general knowledge about the galaxy. Then, the questions shifted to the First Order.

"How many Stormtroopers compose a battalion?"

"Oh, I don't know. One hundred?"

"False. Five hundred Stormtroopers compose a battalion. Next question. What is the maximum speed of TIE Fighters?"

"Let's see … really fast?"

"False. The maximum speed of TIE Fighters is 746 miles per hour. Next question."

After several wrong answers, a prompt appeared on the monitor reminding me that my answers were being recorded. I dismissed it in annoyance. How would I know any of this?

One question in particular struck my interest, and I stared at it for several moments before muttering my uneducated guess.

The system said, "False. Kylo Ren is a Force-sensitive human and apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke. He oversees Tier One reconnaissance and interrogation for the First Order."

Force-sensitive. The term stuck in my mind, and names like Jedi and Sith were conjured by my wandering thoughts. It was legendary stuff throughout the galaxy. Did those legends somehow lead to the First Order? I continued with the questions, learning more and more snippets about the mysterious organization that I had joined.

Before I was able to take the last portion of the exam, I began to see the students shut off their monitors. I copied their actions and followed the crowd through a series of hallways to what seemed to be a cafeteria. Very few words were exchanged between them, and I guessed that they had been instructed to limit communication. I was glad, because I didn't feel like talking to any of them.

I sat away from the group once again and soon a service droid brought me a simple meal. I ate like a savage, tearing through the meat and assorted vegetables with an appetite I didn't know I had. After I finished eating, I massaged my aching temples with my fingertips. I was determined to finish the testing as soon as possible.

I was the first one to return to the main area, and I sat at my terminal just as before. The interface recognized me and resumed the exam. I quickly realized that I had reached the judgement portion of the test.

"If a prisoner of the First Order attempted to escape, what would you do?"

I hesitated a bit too long and the system repeated the question in the exact eerie tone. Suddenly feeling my mouth go dry, I swallowed before answering. "I would attempt to incapacitate him and recapture him."

As if the computer anticipated this response, it further asked, "And if these efforts fail?"

The answer it wanted popped into my mind instantly, and I stated, "I would kill him."

The system processed my response and gave me an eight out of ten. "Next question," it continued. "If a prisoner of the First Order refused to relinquish needed information, what would you do?"

My own situation flashed before my eyes, and I pictured what Kylo Ren had done to me. I rushed to answer this time. "I would interrogate him."

"Elaborate," the system requested.

My brow furrowed as I thought of the way Ren had used my own mind against me. Force-sensitive. I bit my lip hard. If there was one thing I couldn't do, it was read minds.

"Elaborate."

"I would … threaten him. Scare him. I would coerce him into giving me the information."

The system ranked my response as seven out of ten. "Next question."

Five hours of morality focused questions dragged on and on, and I soon decided that the other students weren't coming back. I eventually noticed that the lighting around the room had dimmed for a night cycle. It didn't matter—I was finishing these gods-forsaken tests even if it was the end of me.

The last question was the easiest one of all. "Would you give your life for the First Order?"

Another prompt about the necessity of honesty appeared and I waved it away. "Yes," I said. It was what they wanted to hear. It was what would keep me alive, theoretically.

"Please proceed to the shooting range for the final portion of the examination," the system instructed.

Overjoyed that no one was there to witness my first attempt at firing a gun, I walked sluggishly to the range. I was exhausted but desperate to finish. The system logged me in at the first lane, and the control panel beside it had a list of weapons to choose from. I tapped the first one and retrieved a blaster from the rack that matched the picture on the panel.

I missed the targets completely on all ten simulated shots, and the system replaced the picture with the word "FAIL." Disappointed, I tapped on the next weapon and the next and the next. I failed all twenty rounds except for the scoped sniper rifle.

Hands shaking and body drenched in sweat, I reached for the last weapon of the exam: the flamethrower. The fuel canister alone was heavy enough to kill someone. As I lifted it to aim for the target, the metal handle slipped through my sweaty palms. It fell to the floor with a loud clank.

"Oh!" a voice from behind exclaimed. I whirled around, heart bouncing out of my chest. It was the protocol droid.

"You—You scared me," I laughed, bending to pick up the gun. However, the panel had already registered the attempt as a fail. I sighed with relief as the system logged me out.

The protocol droid fussed behind me. "Ma'am, you are out of your quarters after hours. I must escort you back and file a misconduct report."

I practically limped toward the droid. "But I wasn't even given a room," I tried to explain.

"Oh." The droid straightened, surprised. "Well, I will escort you to new quarters." It motioned for me to follow its clumsy steps.

I did, feeling much relief at the prospect of a warm bed. I didn't care about the report. The whole world could explode in that moment and I wouldn't care.

After speed lifting up several floors and hobbling through several hallways of student quarters, we finally reached a door with the designation "ST-3138" on it. The droid explained that the door would only respond to my biometric signature and that of my superiors. I could barely process the information.

I thanked the droid, walked into my new quarters, and collapsed on the nearest bed I could find.


	5. Placement

C-5: Placement

Repetitive beeping woke me, and I swatted erratically at my alarm panel. Quickly realizing that it was several parsecs away, I rolled out of bed and took in my surroundings. A small, dimly lit room with simple amenities and a noisy door.

Wiping sleep from my eyes, I stumbled toward the door and fiddled with the control panel. It opened with a swoosh and I stared groggily at the officer standing outside.

He was statuesque—perfect hair, perfect collar, and perfect annoyed scowl. "ST-3138?" he said.

My brow furrowed as if he were speaking a different language. "I'm Caltrel—Lucia Caltrel."

The officer responded with impatience. "I am Lieutenant Curtis, in charge of student operations within this base. I report directly to Captain Phasma."

I nodded, watching him attentively. "Nice to meet you," I offered when he paused.

He remained unimpressed. "If you had attended cadet orientation last evening, you would already know this. My records count you as the one and only absence."

I stopped nodding, suddenly very afraid. "I—I'm so sorry … I wasn't told—"

"As such," he interrupted, "you are to report to the captain this morning to receive any assignments you may have missed. You will also receive your tracker and communicator." He eyed me briefly, as if just noticing that I was completely disheveled. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir." I raised my hand awkwardly and felt my face heating up. What had I gotten myself into? "Sir—um, where is Captain Phasma?"

His perfect eyebrow arched as if I was the most incompetent thing alive. "The droids can lead you. Report there immediately." He turned on his heel and left, leaving me gaping in the doorway.

I whipped back into the room, desperate to find a change of clothes. Launching myself toward the wall dresser, I rummaged through the drawers until I found a clean gray jumpsuit. It even said "ST-3138" on the breast pocket. I splashed water on my face from the sink and combed my fingers through my hair before nearly sprinting out the door.

I wandered the hallways for five minutes until I found a cleaning droid. It perked up immediately when I asked for directions, and it led me up a speed lift to what appeared to be a floor of offices. Each one had a large window to the hallway and identical metallic furniture. It was mostly empty, save for a few officers here and there.

An abnormally large window showed what could only be the captain's office. A large desk stood in the center of the room with chairs and computer terminals strewn about. Most of the terminals were locked with a biometric reader in place. A caped—and silver?—Stormtrooper stood at one of the terminals.

I stepped through the open door hesitantly with my tongue absolutely tied. Then, I remembered some of the words that Curtis had used. "ST-3138 reporting, Captain Phasma."

"No, I don't see why not, sir."

I bit my tongue immediately. Phasma was on using a com!

"Then send two units here immediately. I'll deal with Hux when I return," came the reply over static.

"Immediately, sir," the Captain said in a startlingly female voice. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Ren out."

The com channel closed, and Phasma's hands flew over more controls without pause. "ST-3138, good to see another woman join the ranks," she said with an almost droll tone, not even facing me.

I smiled, stepping forward with slightly more ease than before. "It's good to—"

"That, however," she continued, "does not excuse your absence from orientation." Turning around, she picked up a datapad from her desk and tapped away at it. "I'm putting you on restricted access until the completion of your training."

"Yes, ma'am—I'm sorry, ma'am." Her helmet was unnerving, and I could only imagine the colossal, intimidating woman behind the mask.

She nodded once as if in agreement. "Sit down," she ordered, motioning across her desk.

I complied quickly, clasping my hands knuckles-white in my lap.

Her monotone voice filtered loudly through the helmet. "I have your testing results here, 3138, and I'm wondering how you achieved such scores in such little time."

My mind immediately went back to the firing range and hundreds of uneducated guesses. Internally, I smacked myself silly. "I'm sorry," I shuddered out, "I really didn't prepare at all, so …"

"I don't take to jokes kindly, 38. Your results are stellar."

I felt my jaw go slack. "Really?"

Phasma continued to tap through the datapad. "All except for 'command' and 'weaponry.' It's common for volunteers to be inadequate in these areas, as drafts are trained in them since their youth."

Pride erupted in my chest like a supernova. However, I schooled my expression into the neutral calm I'd been taught to maintain. The captain continued before I could speak.

"Ordinarily, I would place you in a Stormtrooper unit immediately with these grades. But the coursework for the failed areas takes approximately a week to complete."

My gaze fell to the desk. "I understand."

"Additionally"—the captain paused, as if deciding her next wording—"I have an unusual offer to make you, 38." Her helmet briefly glanced toward the com terminal. "My superiors seem to think that you are fit for … atypical operations."

I perked up at the comment. "Such as?"

"Reconnaissance, to put it simply," Phasma said, taking on a skeptical tone. "Though most departments within this base report to me, yours would fall outside my jurisdiction."

I nodded, not quite understanding what was being offered. "Who would I … report to?" I asked, feeling further discomfort with the lingo.

"Kylo Ren," she answered. "Though our departments do collaborate from time to time."

I took a moment to notice the irony. Working for the interrogator that nearly frightened me to death sounded like my worst nightmare. "Er—what would I be doing exactly?"

I felt her eyes on me through the helmet, appraising me. "Field work such as investigation and interrogation. I understand you have experience in that area."

My face crumpled at the words, but I inferred from her tone that she didn't know my entire situation. "I do," I said with bravado. I tried to draw parallels between interrogation and my trained field of diplomacy, quickly failing.

"Just as well," Phasma said, sounding almost pleased. "There is additional training for the specialization in reconnaissance, lasting approximately a week. You'll achieve the rank of corporal thanks to your test scores."

It was an offer no one could refuse. I wondered if I would become a Stormtrooper either way, but I didn't dare ask out of embarrassment. I found that I didn't mind the idea of hiding myself behind a helmet for once.

"When can I start training?" I heard myself ask.

Captain Phasma put down her datapad, resuming her monotone inflection. "Immediately, 38." She reached a hand across her desk and said, "Welcome to the First Order."

That evening, after I'd completed my supplementary coursework for the day, I found myself lying awake in bed. My tiny quarters were uncomfortable to say the least, and my access to recreations was restricted to textbooks from the facility's database and combat holotapes.

Unfortunately, I finally had time to think.

Watching the pulsing blue light of my new communicator, I wondered if the captain had been serious when she told me to keep it on at all times. I shoved my hand underneath the sheets, feeling the device tug uncomfortably at my forearm.

I had reached several conclusions about my situation. First—my family, my fleet, my friends were quickly fading. I had been told that I was unable to communicate with anyone off planet, including and especially my family. After replaying my capture in my mind about a hundred times, I decided I was lucky to even be alive. Second—I had officially joined the First Order. I'd never had great interest in politics outside of the fleet, though my mentor had often sung praises of the Resistance. I was reluctant to join the other side but not unwilling to.

The third conclusion was perhaps the most frightening of all—I didn't mind at all. When I thought of my family back on Deck 12 of Andromeda Prime, I felt nothing. When I pictured them sending out a search party after Javvik's ship, I didn't care. My mother had passed away several years ago, and my father took more interest in my step-mother than myself most of the time. My sister would miss me, but her husband would take care of her. My friends were former classmates, almost as desperate to leave the fleet as I had been.

In the end, I concluded that I was still in shock. Nerves for my future overrode any regrets I had of the past. Nerves for training, for becoming a Stormtrooper, for Kylo Ren …

As I turned over for the twentieth time that hour, I squeezed my eyes shut against the torrent of my thoughts. I pictured the stars, as I often did when sleep eluded me, and sent my mind off to float among them.

I missed the stars.


	6. Observation

C-6: Observation

"It's only observation," I chanted to myself. "Just observation." I released a tense sigh, clasping on another white arm guard.

The completion of my two-week training had been met with an unceremonious nod from Captain Phasma and a bitter farewell from Lieutenant Curtis. I had moved from my tiny quarters into slightly-less-tiny quarters, which actually had its own refresher and computer terminal. My hopes of enjoying my brand new residence had been dashed the night before when the captain had issued my first assignment via communicator.

"You'll be accompanying the reconnaissance team in the morning, 38. This is considered your first mission, though you will be strictly on observation. Do not speak or act, just listen and follow. Report to Hangar 11-B at 0700 tomorrow, and ask for Corporal Bach."

Suffice it to say, I hardly slept a wink.

I pulled my short hair back into a hairclip as I glanced over my uniform again. Red shoulder on the right, ammo clips belted on the left side, 3138, not the right, and holster strapped to the right thigh. I looked at my eyes in the mirror—red-rimmed, sunken, and darker blue than I remembered. Deciding it didn't matter, I slipped my helmet on my head and adjusted the sights. I dropped my arms to my sides.

"Observation," I told myself a final time in the mirror. My Stormtrooper face stared back at me.

The armory was on the way to the hangars, but I still asked a droid to lead me there. I shivered with dread when I thought of getting lost and being late. The quartermaster gave me a blaster for my holster and a pair of digital oculars to strap on my belt. I accepted the standard issue items and felt pleasantly surprised when the quartermaster saluted me.

I quickly realized that my armor was a symbol of authority. Stormtroopers saluted me in the halls and officers nodded their respect as I passed. Empowerment eased some of my nerves as I neared the hangar bay on Level 1 of the base.

With clanking steps, I hurried through the expansive hangar bay in search of 11-B. As I passed a row of TIE Fighters, I looked up to see the unmistakable design of Kylo Ren's command shuttle. I felt a wave of nerves at the sight, and double checked that it was indeed docked at 11-B (11-A and 10-B as well).

An officer and several Stormtroopers stood near the loading ramp beneath the massive ship. I approached on wobbly legs, reminding myself that I had chosen this, I had trained for this. With a mixture of relief and surprise, I recognized the officer as my original warden.

"Corporal Caltrel?" he called as I neared the ramp.

"Yes," I replied unsteadily, quickly remembering that he wouldn't recognize me. I was unused to hearing my own name and new rank. "Sergeant Bach?"

"He's onboard," the warden replied, angling his head toward the ramp. "I'm Corporal Vegas."

I nodded once. "Nice to meet you."

The corporal narrowed his gaze at me for a moment, and I feared that he did actually remember me. My suspicion subsided when he chimed an amicable, "Likewise."

Behind Vegas, the Stormtroopers straightened and raised their fist in a salute. I was confused at first, but followed their gaze behind me toward an approaching figure. The imposing black ensemble was as striking as the first time I saw it, and I felt my heart nearly stop in my chest.

I was very grateful for the polymer helmet between me and him this time. Anxiety no doubt showed on my face and twisted my gut terribly. My pulse raced in my ears, but my stance remained unchanged.

"Vegas," the mechanical voice greeted, and then the chilling helmet turned in my direction.

As if on cue, the corporal said, "This is Corporal Caltrel. She's here from Phasma on observation."

Pulling my shoulders back, I threw a quick salute. "Sir," I chirped.

He raised a silent hand to have me stand at ease. When his gaze lingered a second too long, I bit my lip hard beneath my helmet. Did he remember my name?

"Corporal, welcome," he said pleasantly, leaving me a confused mess. He turned and strode toward the ramp.

After catching a sideways glance from Vegas, I fell in behind the company and resumed my mental mantra. Observation. Observation. Observation.

The team met in a large common area at the bottom of the ship. Ren discussed the mission with essential members—coordinates for the pilot, instructions for the crew members, and orders for the ground team.

"Vegas and Caltrel will accompany me, with the four of you"—he gestured toward the Stormtroopers—"on standby should the need arise. I don't expect it to."

The other officer besides Vegas and I stood and spoke. "Sir, if I may interrupt, Caltrel is meant to—"

"Observe?" Ren interrupted, turning a faceless leer on the officer. "Precisely why I intend to give her a good view."

Trying not to dwell too long on the comment, I felt sweat break out on my brow. I wanted to agree with the officer, insist that I remain aboard, but I remembered Phasma's instructions. Listen and follow.

Ren then retired to his quarters as the team dispersed to carry out orders. I soon felt the familiar rev of the thruster engines maneuvering out of the hangar bay. Stepping toward the long window in the common area, I watched as we ascended above the forest base and soon entered the atmosphere. Stars quickly came into view and I resisted the urge to remove my helmet to drink in the view. Shortly after we left orbit, the hyperdrive launched us into the blue hues of hyperspace.

As I returned to reality, I noticed the common area was mostly emptied. I approached the officer who had spoken on my behalf and inclined my head respectfully.

"Sergeant Bach?" I presumed.

The older officer nodded, appraising me with an almost hostile glint in his eyes. "Yes, corporal. It seems you're my replacement rather than my ward today."

I resisted my instinct to apologize. "Unexpected, sir?"

"Very," he snapped at me, gesturing to another seat at his table. I sat with some clumsy maneuvering. "Ren is all about the unexpected, I suppose."

I wasn't accustomed to being spoken to so frankly, and I glanced around. We were alone. "Do you have a lot of experience with Kylo Ren?" I asked.

"No, but his reputation precedes him." The sergeant assessed me with a critical eye as he spoke. "He changes field officers every other mission or so. There's no rhyme or reason."

I nodded, wondering if I was to be chosen for field missions ever again.

"So," Bach deadpanned, leaning casually against the table. "Do you have any questions, rookie?"

About twenty instantly popped into my head, most of which were better suited for the training droids down on Level 22. "I do," I said, hesitating over my next words. "How often does the reconnaissance team function?"

Bach shrugged. "Fieldwork is needed a couple of times a week on average. Interrogations take up most of the time—all interrogations go through us. The easy ones are given to officers like you, me, and Vegas; and Ren handles the hard ones. Sometimes we have to travel a great distance."

I could feel myself nodding too much, so I forced myself to stop. "What's the difference between easy and hard ones?"

The corners of his mouth turned up momentarily, and I felt myself shrink. "It's always easier when they're responsive to pain. Easiest when they're responsive to threats. But the hard ones need something a little more."

My mind drifted back to my would-be execution, and to the way Ren had used my mind. I suppressed a shiver at the memory. "How does he do it?" I asked, almost in a whisper.

Bach leaned forward a bit, matching my tone. "He has the Dark Side in him. It's powerful."

I felt my fascination building. "The Dark Side?" I repeated lowly.

He nodded as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. My mind turned the thought over and over until another presence interrupted us.

"Caltrel," Vegas said from behind me, and I turned to find a taller and broader version of my own uniform. His eyes glanced between Bach and me, as his helmet was tucked securely under his arm. "Ready?" he asked expectantly.

"Yes," I said, clamoring to my feet. I nodded to Bach. "Thank you, sergeant."

As Vegas and I left the common area, I heard the sergeant say, "Don't get her killed or Phasma will have my head!"

Vegas laughed under his breath as he secured his helmet. Their joking made me feel out of place, but I quickly shoved the feeling aside at the thought of the mission. We walked side-by-side toward what I guessed was Ren's quarters, soon reaching a speed lift.

"What did he tell you? Bach, I mean," his filtered voice asked me as we ascended a few levels.

I chose my words for a moment. "We talked about interrogations," I hedged.

He nodded and fell silent as we continued to walk. I wanted to ask him whether it was proper to suit up after boarding rather than before, but I remained quiet out of pride. Training droids. We soon stopped outside of Ren's quarters and Vegas lifted his hand to the control panel, hovering over it.

His helmet tilted to the side, eyeing me over his shoulder. "I know who you are, by the way," he murmured, sending an arrow of dread straight through my chest. "Ren does too."

My mouth was as dry as cotton. "How?" I croaked.

Then he dropped his hand and leaned toward me. "Well, I was notified by Phasma," he said in a low voice. "I think it was Ren that put in your recommendation."

The information didn't fully process in my mind as I became fixated on the memory of my interrogation. The way I had been a trembling, sobbing mess begging for my life. The way Kylo Ren had invaded my personal space. The way he coaxed any information he liked from me. By the gods—what must he think of me now?

"Just wanted to let you know," Vegas said casually, pressing the door signal.


	7. Mission

C-7: Mission

If I'd been nervous before, I was petrified now. The door to Ren's quarters opened in seconds, and Vegas stepped boldly inside, with me in proverbial tow. I stood cautiously to the side as Ren entered the sitting area, appearing as a giant menace in the small rooms.

"Sir, we are minutes from Rodia. I thought you would prefer to brief us in private." Vegas glanced back and I stepped forward awkwardly, feeling Ren's gaze on me. I secretly wished to fall through the floor.

"You thought correctly, corporal. Supreme Leader Snoke requested that we keep this investigation as quiet as possible," he said, glancing between us. "I expect discretion from both of you."

"Yes, sir," we said nearly in sync. I found that I somehow felt relieved by Vegas' presence.

"We are here based on intel acquired about Senator Dax, who has connections with the Rodians. Her recent correspondence links her with a munitions supplier on Rodia."

I felt unspoken words hovering in the room. That intel was supplied by me!

His masked face tilted slightly before he continued. "We have reasons to believe that this supplier associates with the Resistance. His trade routes could lead us to a haven of Resistance fighters."

Vegas straightened beside me at the words, and I felt his excitement. He remained silent.

"Rather than chasing after supply vessels leaving the system, I've chosen a more direct approach." Sensing the pride in his words, I guessed that Snoke had left the final decision up to Ren. "We'll confront the supplier at his point of origin and extract the intel. He is Rodian, male, and owns a private residence."

"Understood," Vegas said, raising his fist. I copied the action and then stepped aside to allow the two to exit before me. As Vegas and I fell into step behind Ren, I got the idea that we were glorified body guards.

Our landing zone was near a small town in the rural landscape of Rodia. The planet seemed to be tropical with many bodies of water scattered across its flat surface. The night was warm and humid, and I felt my breath drag heavily through my respirator. I followed so closely that I clanked shoulders with Vegas a few times.

Streets cleared as we passed through town, and I felt stares from every direction. Rodians were a reserved species—my fleet hadn't had much contact outside of Senator Dax. I watched random townsfolk through my visor as their bug-like eyes watched the imposing display of First Order authority.

Finally we reached what appeared to be some sort of residence, though it was much larger than the modest homes around it. The architecture was rustic. Ren stopped in front of the entrance and waited for some unseen reason.

"Vegas," he said quietly, for us only, "there is a door in the back. See to it that no one leaves."

Vegas vanished behind the building and left me biting my lip so hard that I saw stars. Would I be expected to follow similar orders? I tried to channel my training but my mind seemed almost hazy. The darkness and stillness pressed around us for several moments, until Ren glanced over his shoulder unexpectedly.

"Why so afraid?" he asked, his voice sounding almost gentle through the mechanical growl.

My stomach twisted horribly. "I—I'm not," I denied, forgetting I was speaking to a superior.

He turned back to the door and squared his shoulders, seeming to ignore me. If I had breathed in the next moment, I would have missed the faint word whispered under his helmet. "Liar."

Then the wooden door flung open, as if it had opened of its own volition. I followed Ren inside and instinctively checked for someone behind the door. No one.

The house was dark. I tapped a button on the side of my helmet to activate night vision. Ren paused again and glanced about, and I wondered momentarily if our supplier wasn't home. "Upstairs," Ren said at length.

I followed on shaky legs. Ren stalked through the dark like a predator; his presence alone was enough to shake the air itself with fear, much less myself. We entered an upstairs bedroom—another empty, dark room. Ren pulled a weapon from his belt that wasn't quite the shape of a blaster—

A sudden loud ignition of orange light had my heart leaping into my throat. The light sword trembled in the dark, sending shuttering waves of heat in every direction. I stared, open mouthed, as the room was bathed in a red glow.

Ren stepped toward a small door—a closet?—and slashed two graceful and deadly strikes. The door fell apart in four pieces, revealing a very frightened Rodian inside the small space.

"Damn the stars! Spare me!" He fell to his knees at Ren's feet, trembling all over. I watched in fascination as Ren leveled his sword with the Rodian's neck.

"Answer to the First Order and you will be spared, Rodian," Ren said in a commanding voice. The sword's light danced like fire along the visor of his helmet.

"What—What do you want?" the supplier nearly screamed.

"Tell me of your dealings with Senator Dax."

I watched fear contort the Rodian's face, and his eyes reflected the line of light before his face. "I—she—I sold her some arms only recently, I have no d—dealings!"

"These arms," Ren continued, lifting a threatening hand, "where are the records of their transport?"

The Rodian panted for a second before answering. "It's—They're not here."

Silence loomed for a few breaths, accenting the buzzing crackle of the sword's blaze. I gulped between labored breathing, feeling a drop of sweat work its way down my temple beneath my helmet.

"Trooper," Ren addressed me suddenly, without breaking his glare on the Rodian. "You will find a datacube in the satchel on his belt."

I clamored forward at the order, struggling to bear the heat of the sword's proximity as I bent to retrieve the satchel. Reaching inside with stiff fingers, I withdrew a small, purple cube and presented it to Ren.

"Inside are the trade routes?"

The Rodian's fear quickly transformed to despair. He nodded, eyes downcast.

"And the Senator's star charts?"

"Yes," he croaked, defeated.

Ren's sword lowered, and I marveled at how quickly and smoothly the interrogation had gone. "Stand," he commanded.

The supplier cowered as he stood, shielding himself from the sword's heat. From the new angle, I could see heatwaves warping the air around it. Before a word could be uttered, Ren lunged and severed the Rodian's head from his shoulders in one clean slash. I jumped. His limp body fell into a heap on the carpet beside the oozing head.

The smell of burnt flesh filled my senses immediately, and I felt a wave of nausea. Ren's sword retracted with a hiss as he whirled and left the carnage behind. As I followed, I noticed a trembling Rodian ear from underneath the bed. I turned back to step closer. A child?

"Trooper," Ren called from the top of the stairs. I scrambled to catch up, heart racing out of my chest. No amount of training droids could have prepared me for this, I realized vaguely. Vegas was already waiting for us on the main floor. I could barely hear myself think over the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

"Finished, sir?" I heard Vegas ask.

"We have what we came for," Ren replied with satisfaction, glancing back at me. I gripped the purple cube in my hand tightly.

Ren disappeared to his quarters almost immediately when we returned to the command shuttle, not an hour after we'd arrived. I stared out the window in the common area as we hurled through hyperspace. It was difficult to process what I had just witnessed.

Kylo Ren was a Sith lord, I determined. The Jedi and the Sith were legends, rumors that had been passed around the galaxy like ghost stories. I tried to remember my old lessons on such things. Had the Jedi or the Sith been supporting the villainous Galactic Empire? I couldn't remember. If Kylo Ren was now a part of the First Order, I imagined that the Sith had supported the old Empire.

I wondered for the hundredth time what in the stars I had gotten myself into.

The bottom line remained the same: Kylo Ren was brutally efficient and powerful beyond anything I'd ever seen before. Why had he recommended a weakling like me?

I felt a presence behind me and turned to see Sergeant Bach beside me. "Well, rookie? Did you see anything?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes," I said, sucking in a breath. "It was … enlightening."

He laughed before reminding me to file a mission report with Captain Phasma.

After docking back on base, the team dispersed from the command shuttle. I felt myself being carried by automatic steps, as my mind was still far from reality. Vegas, Ren, and I shared a speed lift to the quarters on the lower levels in palpable silence.

Vegas dismissed himself with a dutiful salute at the second hallway on Level 10, officer's quarters. I followed awkwardly as Ren turned on the fourth hallway. He stopped at the door that was only several paces away from mine, and I realized in shock that we were neighbors. He tapped out an intricate passcode on his control panel as I passed by to reach my door.

I felt a question bubble up that I didn't know was there, and I spun to impulsively ask it. "Kylo Ren—er, sir," I called.

He turned instantly and I watched his helmet tilt in acknowledgement before I asked, "Why did you recommend me?"

His arms clasped behind his back. "Who told you?" he countered, almost demanding.

"Vegas," I replied right away, and then regretted it. Would he be upset with the corporal?

Ren nodded as if he already knew. He stepped a breath into the hallway, facing me fully. "Tell me why you want to know," he said calmly.

I shook my head absently, unsure. "I'm curious …" The words about you lingered in the back of my throat. During several heartbeats of silence, I shifted uncomfortably.

"I saw potential in you," he answered at last. I felt his eyes watching my unease.

I couldn't stop my racing thoughts. "How?" I asked in a breath, but he heard me.

The ghost of a laugh came through the voice filter of his helmet. I could almost picture a smirking face behind the mask. "If you are still curious by our next mission, ask me then."

It was an odd request, but I nodded vigorously anyway. "Yes, sir," I replied.

He returned to the control panel, and I sensed that the conversation was over. I mirrored his actions on my own door. "Or," he said, as if an afterthought, "you could always ask your training droids."

I turned just in time to watch as he vanished into his room, the door's closing swoosh following shortly. I placed a hand on my doorframe, losing myself in thought about the Dark Side, about the Force, and about Kylo Ren.


	8. Questions

C-8: Questions

My entire evening and early morning were consumed with research. I scoured the database for information on Force-sensitive individuals and the battle between Dark and Light.

The texts that I read painted a gruesome picture of the Light Side—the old Jedi Order. They fought to undo order and bring chaos to the galaxy. They suppressed their emotions and emphasized a life without pleasure or feeling. They indoctrinated children to their will and forced them to fight for disorder. Fortunately, the Jedi Order was wiped out some sixty years ago by the Dark Side.

The Sith Lords, consequently, were the masters of the Dark Side. Their quest for ultimate order and peace was carried out by two powerful beings—a master and an apprentice. The texts emphasized the conversion of Anakin Skywalker (a familiar name of lore), who became Darth Vader, apprentice to Darth Sidious. These last two Sith Lords were killed in the destruction of the old Empire's superweapon, the Deathstar.

I had yet to learn much of anything about current events regarding the Dark and the Light. Through my training I had learned that Kylo Ren was an apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, but information on the latter was practically nonexistent. I knew on instinct alone that Snoke and Ren were strong with the Dark Side. Was the Light truly extinct?

Rubbing my temples, I finally sat on my bed. I glanced at my half-eaten dinner and felt my stomach give a hollow groan. Breakfast would be delivered by droid soon, and my first routine practice was scheduled in two hours. I mentally debated the importance of sleep over food. Sleep won.

I was leaving for practice just as breakfast was being delivered. Opting out of the bulky Stormtrooper armor, I wore my officer's uniform just as Vegas had done the day before. On a gamble, I left the cap behind.

As I walked down the hall toward the speed lift, I noticed a service droid opening Kylo Ren's door with its input cable. It buzzed inside just as I passed by, and I couldn't resist catching a glimpse through the open door.

It only lasted half a second. Through a cracked door within , I could see a sliver of dark hair and the briefest glimpse of human skin. I sucked in a breath and doubled my pace down the hall. Kylo Ren was human—or at least looked human.

I told myself I already knew that and tried not to dwell on it. I pressed the button for Level 22 rather than 20. I tried to get off when someone entered at 21 as the lift went back up.

The shooting range was not empty, and I guessed that they scheduled several practice times together. Fortunately, the system in place was similar to the testing one downstairs. I began target practice with a shoulder blaster, trying not to flush too much whenever I missed a shot.

The empty lane next to me booted to life, and I immediately considered moving to another lane. I stole an awkward glance and met eyes with Vegas. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Caltrel," he greeted curtly, raising a hand blaster.

I looked away with embarrassment on my cheeks, and cleared my throat to squeak, "Vegas."

He was a sharpshooter. I tried to take comfort in the fact that he seemed too focused to even notice my 50:50 hit and miss ratio. After some minutes of silence, I heard him clear his throat.

"That was some mission yesterday," he said in a casual tone. "I heard that even Hux was impressed."

I felt myself smile with pride even as my mind pictured the half-written report on my datapad. "It was," I agreed, not sure what to say.

"That's hard to come by—impressing Hux," he said, and I glanced over to find a smirk. "Ren does it often enough." His hit ratio was 100:0.

My mind snapped back to Kylo Ren. "Do you work with him often?" I asked, trying to force a casual tone. It didn't work.

I felt Vegas' eyes on me as I raised my rifle, and my finger trembled on the trigger. Thank the gods I made the next shot. "I've been on recon for almost a year now," Vegas replied. "That's longer than most last."

Remembering Bach's complaints of frequently rotating officers, I imagined that Kylo Ren was a difficult commander to please. I was suddenly impressed by Vegas. "How did you manage that?" I asked, intending to make it a joke.

"Hard work," Vegas answered. He caught my gaze in the corner of his eye. "Being there, and being ready. Following orders without asking questions."

His tone was so serious that I took a moment to absorb the advice. I nodded after a moment, focusing back on my shooting.

"Ambitious, Caltrel?" he jabbed.

I missed the next simulated target, and forced a short laugh. "No, not really." My mind added, more like trapped.

Seeming to sense my train of thought, he didn't ask any more questions. He already knew why I was here, and why I had joined reconnaissance. A full minute passed without words, and I bit my lip when I realized that I'd missed an opportunity to ask him about himself.

The system then notified me that my thirty minutes of practice time was complete. Counting myself lucky that it wasn't an hour like I'd thought, I said goodbye to Vegas and was met with a surprisingly warm smile. I felt myself smile as I walked away—it was the first time I actually felt welcome in the First Order.

As I walked back to my room, I felt even more regret about not speaking with Vegas more. I wanted to ask him about Kylo Ren and Snoke and the Dark Side. Or was I too embarrassed to show my interest about our superior?

I felt my steps automatically slow as I passed by Ren's quarters, until they stopped entirely a few paces away. He had said to ask him again after our next mission. When would that be? And what exactly had I asked him? The memory was blurred too much by the training droids comment.

I suddenly had the undeniable urge to knock on his door and ask him. I felt my hand turn into a fist at the thought—there was no possible way I could go through such an embarrassing act. I was a corporal, one of many that he'd seen come and go from his team. He didn't care about my questions.

After I found that I was in no mood to finish my report to Phasma—she probably got hundreds of reports per day anyway—I realized that I had an obsession. Another search through the database sat at my fingers, showing me archives that I'd already viewed twice. Even so, I scanned through the "Kylo Ren" text just in case I missed something.

I spent the next hour reading about the Knights of Ren and their mysterious ties to Supreme Leader Snoke. All other members besides Kylo Ren didn't have entries in the database. Was I the only one who was curious about these individuals?

My communicator pulled me out of my research. It beeped incessantly, and I realized with a gulp that it was probably Captain Phasma. I pressed the green pad and raised my wrist.

"Caltrel," I answered.

"This is Phasma." I winced. "Sergeant Bach informs me that you are responsible for his mission report from yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am." I floundered, trying to think of an excuse. "It's almost finished," I said lamely.

"See to it, Caltrel. Reports are due within twelve hours for future reference. Phasma out."

Needless to say, the report was finished within twenty minutes. Bach had told me to write about how the mission went and my impression of it. I chose my words carefully when it came to the Rodian's execution. After rereading it, I exchanged the word "shocked" for "surprised."

I practically scurried to Phasma's office. When I saw that she was inside, I decided to leave the datacube on the file cabinet by the door rather than inside.

"Corporal," snapped her metallic voice from the desk. I looked at her through the glass, hoping that it had just been an acknowledgement. "Enter," she ordered, sounding almost bored.

I stepped inside like a scolded child. "Yes, Captain?" I saluted.

"At ease," she said, still reading whatever was on her terminal. "Ren debriefed me on your mission. I want to hear what you thought of it."

Pulling out the datacube, I placed it on an empty space at her cluttered desk. "Here's my report—"

"Thank you," she said curtly. "I would also like to hear your impression first-hand." She turned her silver helmet toward me finally, folding her hands expectantly.

The sudden scrutiny raised my nerves. "It was—very good. Our approach was efficient. We retrieved the information we needed without much trouble."

Phasma nodded. "Ren told me you were nervous," she said, pausing to watch my reaction.

I felt my pulse speed up like it had during the mission, and my throat felt dry. "I was," I admitted.

"Did you feel prepared for the mission?" she pressed.

I nodded, trying to find the words. "I did, until—well, until things went unexpectedly."

She seemed to understand, and then her voice lowered as she said, "Ren meant to test you. I believe that you passed."

Taking in the statement, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. I mulled over my response for a moment. "I'm glad I met expectations," I said weakly.

"Very good. I should expect you to receive more assignments to the reconnaissance team," she said, returning to her terminal. "Carry on, then."

I saluted once more, but felt my feet stay in their place. I didn't want to miss two opportunities in one day. As a woman, I felt fairly comfortable speaking with Phasma, even if she did hold authority over every Stormtrooper in the First Order.

"Captain, may I ask you something?"

She was typing something into her terminal with practiced fingers. "Of course," she intoned.

I hesitated over my first question. "The database says that Kylo Ren is a member of the Knights of Ren. What are they?"

Phasma's typing faltered for only half a second. "The Knights of Ren are agents of the First Order that answer directly to Supreme Leader Snoke. They are servants of the Dark Side."

"So, they are all Force-sensitive?"

The typing stopped, and I sensed a bit of annoyance in the captain's tone. "I have not seen the other Knights myself, but I would assume so. Caltrel, I prefer military tactics over sorcery. When our agendas align, I tolerate it." She looked up and I felt her eyes narrow on me. "I would advise you to feel the same."

I nodded, feeling as though I had overstepped. As I dismissed myself, disappointment bubbled in my chest.

I still had questions.


	9. Faith

C-9: Faith

A week passed by as I quickly fell into a routine. I was assigned supplementary training in interrogation by Captain Phasma that took up most of my time. The training made me feel worlds more comfortable with the thought of interrogating someone, but I was anxious about it. Reconnaissance officers were often sent away often for the purpose of interrogations—even Vegas was absent from the shooting range for two days.

When he returned, I asked him about his mission during our shared practice time.

"It was pretty ordinary. The prisoner was being held on a General Adams' star curser. He sang like a bird when we—"

"Corporal," Phasma barked out as she passed by on her routine inspection of the range. "Debriefs go only to Ren and I, not Corporal Caltrel."

I was scared into silence, but Vegas was smirking. "Yes, ma'am," he chirped.

Before I could worry further about what a horrible interrogator I would be, I received another assignment for the reconnaissance team. It was the day after Vegas returned. The order stated to group at the command shuttle just as before.

As I got ready, I was torn between wearing my uniform verses my armor. Remembering how secure I'd felt behind the helmet, I opted for the armor. I bumped into Vegas on the lift to Level 1, and he joked that I was modeling myself after Phasma. I wasn't uncomfortable with the idea.

Ren was already waiting for us this time. I felt the usual twist in my gut when he straightened to his full height and nodded his greeting. We both saluted him, and then we boarded in silence. I quickly realized that there was a skeleton crew onboard—we were the only officers. A unit of Stormtroopers milled about the common area as we took off, and Ren took to his quarters as usual.

Rather than feeling queasy with fear like last time, I felt nervous excitement. Vegas was a strong anchor for my mind, and I felt sure that Ren didn't trust me enough to handle something important. I was equally eager and anxious for experience.

Vegas entered the common area in his armor and called me over with a flick of his hand. "The pilot says we'll arrive in two hours." He paused. "How do you feel?"

I was surprised by the question. "Fine," I answered automatically.

"Good," he said in a brisk tone. "Let's go get briefed."

The sitting room in Ren's quarters was a lot less terrifying than I remembered, but the dark mask of our commander still made me feel very, very small. I tried to emulate Vegas' stance as we stood to receive our mission briefing.

"The intel from our last mission was enlightening," Ren began, sounding pleased. "We are following a lead to the Hosnian system. You both will be accompanying me on the planet. The Stormtroopers have standby orders should we uncover something."

"Could this be a Resistance base, sir?" Vegas asked.

"Possibly." Ren seemed skeptical. "A small one, since there are no ships in the area. Just as before, I suspect they've rooted themselves among the locals. There may be collateral damage."

I saw myself back in the Rodian village, imagining the scene if there had been "collateral damage." My training was very clear about confirmed associates of the Resistance—shoot first.

"We will begin by interrogating our known targets. Kes Odell, a merchant, and a local representative named Landor. This system is pledged to the New Republic, so expect resistance. Questions?"

I felt a spike of fear at the mention of the New Republic. Though the Resistance operated outside their authority, they still vehemently opposed the First Order. I wondered how dangerous the situation on the planet would be.

"No, sir," Vegas answered for us. "We'll arrive within two hours." He saluted, and I did the same as he turned to leave.

"Caltrel, remain," Ren said, waving Vegas away. "Dismissed, Corporal." I felt my face freeze in a look of panic, but I tried to control my outward response.

The door snapped shut behind Vegas. I felt blood rushing to my head and pounding in my ears, making me dizzy. I remained standing at attention. "Sir?" I croaked.

"You lack confidence," Ren accused. His tone was not harsh, but I felt it brush me the wrong way nonetheless. I didn't know what to say. "Why are you afraid?"

I came up with a hundred reasons, all equally humiliating. "I'm—" I stopped, feeling more than a little scrutiny from my superior. I'm not fell from my mind as I searched myself. "I'm inexperienced, sir."

In the silence that followed, I tried to picture his face. Was he young or old? Did he show his emotions on his face like I did? Judging what he thought of me would be easier if I could read his expressions. I wondered why he tolerated me.

"Have faith in the power of the First Order," he said then. "It will not be misplaced."

I took the advice gratefully, nodding in a daze. "I will."

"You're dismissed."

He nodded, and I nearly hit my own chin when I saluted. I practically jogged back to the common room, moving so unsteadily that a Stormtrooper asked if I was alright. Vegas was waiting for me there as well, and he suggested that I rest in the officer's bunks until we arrived.

Two hours flew by, and soon I was watching the surface of a planet come into view. We landed outside of a city just like before, but I could tell the area was more populated and civilized. The planet's sun was just setting, and the cool air made me feel grateful for the thick rubber padding of my armor for once. Our trio walked a good distance to enter the city.

Heads turned. The citizens murmured to each other as we passed, and some shouted words that I chose not to hear. A child threw a rock that clipped off of Vegas' helmet. There was fear on Rodia, but here there was hatred.

We kept our pace at Ren's silent command, eventually reaching a merchant district. Judging by the fastened shutters and doors, most of the shops were closed. People stared at us from windows, benches, and doorways as others scurried to their homes.

"Spread out," Ren directed. "Find out where Kes Odell is."

"Sir," Vegas said, stalking off toward a group of onlookers. I followed his lead as Ren remained where he was, a threatening presence to all.

I summoned all the confidence I could muster as I approached a group of three women. My legs felt like jelly, but I found their reactions to be that of fear rather than reproach.

"Where is the merchant Kes Odell?" I asked with a bit of bite.

Their eyes stole glances at my Stormtrooper mask as they muttered an exchange between them. I waited for several heartbeats, holding my breath.

"We aren't from the city—we don't know anyone," one of them said. Her gaze fell when I looked down at her, and I only then realized how much taller my boots made me appear.

Not quite knowing what to say, I muttered, "Thank you."

As I moved on to the next group, I heard my communicator beep in my ear. Vegas' voice filtered through my helmet speakers. "He's over here, sir."

I glanced across the courtyard to find Vegas standing by an elderly man, and Ren striding toward them. Picking up my pace, I joined them just as they were following the man inside his shop.

Weapons of unfamiliar designs were strewn about the small shop. It was a modest place considering how expensive the merchandise must be. The lights were off, but I had the feeling that Ren preferred it that way.

"Sit down," Ren offered in a honeyed voice, motioning behind the counter. The shopkeeper sat slowly, keeping his tired eyes trained on Kylo Ren's masked face. He seemed more wary than afraid.

"I have no quarrel with the First Order," Odell explained, his voice wavering.

Ren stood before him as an ominous statue. I watched with interest, but Vegas then motioned to me that we were to keep watch. I stole glances at the scene while standing guard by the door.

"I see," Ren said. "Are you aware that your supplier on Rodia is a Resistance sympathizer?"

There was a pause before the old man replied. "Yes," he said in a rush, "but he is the only one in the sector that has the designs that I need."

"And who are your clients?"

"The New Republic …"

"Go on," Ren encouraged.

The man grasped for words. "Their sentinels use ion-infused plasma blasters."

"I am aware." I heard Ren take a few thumping steps and turned to see him standing behind the man's chair. Now, his face betrayed his fear. I was reminded of my own interrogation.

"I have no other clients," the man babbled, gasping in frustration. "I don't know what you want from me!"

"To make it abundantly clear, Odell," Ren said, coming around to glare down at the man, "I am accusing you of supporting the Resistance rebels."

The man didn't look away. "I wouldn't. I don't," he insisted.

Vegas tapped my shoulder with the back of his hand, and I turned to see him jerk his head toward the door. A crowd was forming outside the shop in the square. I put a hand on my blaster and looked at him inquisitively, but he shook his head.

"Corporal," Ren called. Unsure who he was referring to, I was grateful when Vegas responded immediately. "Remain here until I call for you," he ordered. "No one enters, no one leaves."

Vegas saluted, and Ren motioned for me to follow as he left. He lifted his wrist and I heard the com channel to the command shuttle open. "Send a unit of Troopers to Vegas' location."

"Roger, sir," came the reply.

The crowd spread apart as we passed through, and Ren didn't bother at all to dismiss it. I had to nearly jog to keep up with his pace.

"The Senator will confirm his story," Ren explained, sounding a bit frustrated. He glanced back at me, and then there was a pause. "You may walk beside me."

I quickened my steps briefly to fall into step with him, and then felt my heart stutter a bit. I didn't mind the glares so much as we passed through the city this time.

The Senator's house was grand, and the protocol droid who answered the door nearly squealed when it saw us. "Can I help you, sirs?"

"Take us to Senator Landor," Ren answered impatiently.

The droid looked between us as if in shock. "Oh—I'm afraid Master Landor is not home," it flustered. "Would you like to speak with my Lady?"

Ren paused, seeming to mull it over. Before he had a chance to decide, the com channel beeped. He lifted his wrist with a jerk. "This is Ren."

"Sir, a scouting team found three space crafts in the desert to the south."

"And?"

"They're X-Wings, sir."

My training reeled through my mind. Resistance X-Wings?

Without even dismissing the droid, Ren left the door and stormed back into the streets. I did run to catch up with him this time. Unsure how to express my concern, I said, "Sir?"

I heard his tired sigh from beneath his helmet. "That was called an exercise in futility."

My brow furrowed. "But the old man—"

"Lied," Kylo interrupted, shooting me a sideways glance. "And he will pay for it."

"How did you—" I choked back the rest of the words before they left my mouth, thinking twice about insulting a superior.

Seeming to read my thoughts, Ren's steps slowed by an inch. "He must have been trained to resist mental manipulation."

I dwelt on the idea as we marched back to the business district. A formation of Stormtroopers stood outside the shop, and the crowd was much further away than it had been. The Troopers saluted Ren as he reentered the shop. I hung back to watch as he joined Vegas in front of the now terrified shopkeeper.

"You lied," Ren stated with eerie calm.

Odell sputtered. "I told you—"

"Tell me again," Ren demanded, raising a hand between them. He glared down at the man, and I could practically feel the heat in his masked gaze.

The man cried out—I knew that Ren was invading his mind. The struggle was silent, almost bizarre. Vegas shifted in his position as Odell's face contorted in pain. Then, he fell limp in his seat as though exhausted.

Ren lowered his hand and straightened his robes. He then opened the com channel. "The pilots are hiding in a cave beneath the desert to the southeast of their X-Wings. Find them and hold them until I arrive."

The silence that followed was deafening. Ren crouched in front of the trembling man, catching his gaze. "You should not have lied," he told him.

Odell's teeth came together in a grimace. "I don't fear you," he said with unseen strength, staring straight into Kylo Ren's eyes.

After a moment, Ren stood and the man's gaze fell to the floor. "You should," Ren almost whispered. "My Darkness is much stronger than your Light."

Odell shook his head. "You're wrong!" His voice trembled with conviction and fear.

I watched the exchange with fascination. Was the old man a Jedi? No—Jedi were strong with the Force. I imagined that a Jedi would put up much more of a fight.

"Caltrel," Ren's voice shook me from my imaginings.

Springing to attention, I stepped forward. "Sir?"

His voice became low and dangerous, and his eyes remained on the man. "Kill him," he ordered.

At the words, cold sweat broke out on my brow as adrenaline surged through me. It was an order—undeniable and clear. I reached for my blaster as I stepped toward the shivering man. His face was devoid of fear as I leveled the barrel of the blaster with his temple. My hand started to shake. I was here to obey orders, not question them.

Have faith. Obey.

I squeezed my eyes shut behind my helmet as I pulled the trigger.

The man's last words will forever be etched in my mind.

"Long live Luke Skywalker."


	10. Answers

C-10: Answers

I stood in the common area on the command shuttle, grateful for the lack of occupants, watching the stars glitter peacefully as we pulled out of hyperspace. It felt like we'd been away from base for days, but it had been barely over twelve hours. I took a deep breath through my nose, and released it slowly through my mouth.

I didn't want to think.

"You like the stars." Vegas was behind me, and I didn't care to think of how he managed to sneak up on me.

I nodded, feeling my head lull sleepily. My armor was tucked away in the cargo hold. "They're peaceful." A heartbeat of hesitation before I added, "I was born in space."

Vegas was standing close, but I didn't care. "I was, too," he said.

I looked back at him with questioning eyes. He looked as tired as I did.

"My parents were traders," he explained, eyes focused over my shoulder. Then, he looked down at me.

"I'm from a nomadic fleet." I felt my thoughts wander when I realized that I should have said was. Vegas nodded like he already knew. A comfortable silence fell as my gaze wandered back to the void.

"Do you miss it?" he murmured, as though the question was forbidden.

I pondered it. "Sometimes." Like now.

Vegas hummed in agreement, and that was the only time we ever talked about our pasts.

Exiting the command shuttle almost felt like routine, and I stood in the speed lift with Ren and Vegas feeling déjà vu. The silence was oppressing this time—Ren was not satisfied with the mission. When Vegas left us on Level 10, I felt all my confidence being ripped away with him. Even with my helmet on, my nerves flared when I was alone with Ren. Even when I was trailing behind him in the hallway, thinking of all the wrong things to say.

Before he entered his quarters, as if just realizing I was there, Ren turned to me. "Caltrel …"

I froze in my spot and faced him. "Sir?"

There was a pause, as if he was considering me. "I sensed your curiosity during the mission," he said. "Come by my quarters later. We'll speak then." His voice was almost weary.

I nodded rapidly, struck speechless by the request. A pool of nervous energy settled in my gut as entered the access code for my quarters. I took off my gear with robotic movements.

An hour later, my fingers typed my report at my terminal, but my mind was parsecs away. Ren had left right away—maybe to report to Snoke?—leaving me to wonder when exactly "later" was. When I heard him return some time after, I decided to stop by his quarters on my way back from Phasma's office.

The report forced me to think about the mission. When I reached the part about killing the merchant, my hands shook. It took my entire focus to not become sick at the thought. Vegas had encouraged me that everyone's first kill stayed with them for a while—I couldn't wait until it left me.

When I reached the part about the X-Wing pilots committing suicide before being interrogated, I left out the detail of Kylo Ren nearly choking the careless Stormtrooper guard to death.

I grappled the datacube out of my terminal when my report was finished. Slouching into my uniform, I left my quarters and soon discovered that Phasma's office was empty. I felt a lump rise in my throat as the lift ascended back up to Level 10.

I found my hand hovering over the door signal at Ren's quarters. Without my Stormtrooper armor on, I felt naked. I felt like the cowering Lucia Caltrel from my interrogation, not the tall Corporal Caltrel of the recon team. Withdrawing my hand, I decided to wait—

The door slid open suddenly, and I nearly jumped back in alarm. Ren stood in the doorway about a foot taller than I remembered, without his outer robe covering his wide frame. His hood was also down. "Corporal," he said, nodding his greeting. "Come in."

As I stepped inside, I tried to wipe the anxiety from my face. How I wished for my helmet now! The sheer advantage that his mask held left me feeling hopeless. I recalled that Vegas mentioned seeing Ren without his helmet once, and I vaguely wondered how he managed that too.

"Have a seat," Ren invited, gesturing to one of the gray couches in the sitting room.

I realized that his quarters were very similar to those on the command shuttle. Unlike my own, there was a separate bedroom with a private refresher and another door that was closed. I sat uneasily, clasping my hands tightly in my lap.

"Thank you for speaking with me," I said as he sat across from me. I disliked the waver in my voice.

"You're welcome," he said politely as I fidgeted. He sat down, leaning back in his seat, and I got the impression that he was tired. "I understand that you have questions." His tone was more relaxed than usual.

"Yes," I said, trying to remember the original question that spurred the conversation. Forcing a swallow, I asked. "How did you know I had potential for the reconnaissance team?"

His brief laugh was muffled by the helmet's filter. "You already know the answer to that," he said a bit knowingly.

As it did so often, my mind flashed back to my interrogation. Ren was silent as I put the pieces together in my mind. "When you looked in my mind," I said slowly, "you saw more than just the intel I had."

Ren leaned forward with his elbows on his knees in a rare human gesture. "When I enter someone's mind, we are joined in the Force. I know their desires, their fears; their strengths and weaknesses."

I was nodding. Such a thing was incomprehensible. "Ren"—I accidentally let the name slip—"what exactly is the Force?"

As silence reigned for several heartbeats, I once again wished to see his face. Did he appreciate my curiosity or detest it? It was impossible to tell.

"The Force is an ever-present energy of nature that is channeled especially through certain gifted individuals," he explained evenly.

"Like you," I said, immediately regretting pointing out the obvious.

He seemed patient, and nodded. "The Force is strong in my family."

I paused for a moment to consider this—it sounded like there were many other Force-sensitive individuals in the galaxy. Perhaps not as strong as Kylo Ren?

"No," he answered in a low tone. "Their false convictions about the Force led to their failure."

"Oh," I piped. "I … I didn't—"

A breathy laugh cut me short as Ren leaned back in his seat, and I got the picture that he was smiling. "Sometimes I can sense your thoughts very clearly," he said with amusement. "You're very"—a pause—"open minded."

I edged back in my seat unconsciously, my brow furrowing. "Are you in my mind now?"

He seemed to consider the question for a moment. "Not entirely."

I tried to search around inside my mind, not quite sure what I was looking for. I felt a presence among my thoughts, but it seemed too far out of reach. "Then—partially?" I choked out.

"I can sense your emotions—they're strong. I can't help but feel them," he said matter-of-factly.

My instincts told me to flee from this masked creature that repeatedly violated my human rights, but my curiosity demanded that I stay. I blinked at him, knowing that my face looked completely dumbfounded. What sort of being could possibly have this power?

My tongue spoke unprovoked. "Are you human?"

The helmet tilted to the side, and I felt his eyes on me. "Surely Vegas told you of my appearance."

I shook my head, feeling as though I had overstepped some undefined boundary. Embarrassment flooded me when I remembered the forbidden glance I stole the week before. I found myself dwelling on the image a little longer than necessary, and I suddenly realized that he was there. Watching the memory with me.

"Please—don't—" I was standing up. He was watching me, leaning forward, expectant. I couldn't rid my mind of the image, and he knew it. Was he causing it? I felt nearly delirious with the need to know if my imagination was at all accurate. The sudden desire to rip the helmet right off his head filled me.

"Don't worry," he said, just below a whisper. "Go on."

My hands clenched into fists. The urge became increasingly more difficult to resist. "You're in my mind," I stated on trembling lips.

"Yes," he agreed.

"You're causing this."

"No. I am simply exposing your desires."

My ears were ringing, piercing above the sound of my wild pulse. "Why?" I demanded in a breath.

"Because I once suppressed my desires as well. I'm free of that now," he explained, but I wasn't listening. Thoughts captive, hands shaking, my mind begged for release from the intrusion.

Air dragged into my lungs thickly as I moved to stand in front of him. His head reached my shoulders even as he sat. My movements became automatic as my hands reached around the back of his helmet. Fingers scrambling for a moment, I quickly found the release and heard a hiss of air as the respirator decompressed. It opened at the corners so that I could easily lift it off his head.

My wrists were suddenly seized by gloved hands, and brought roughly to my sides. My throat closed with surprise. His hands replaced mine and pulled off the helmet.

Something changed when I saw his face—I felt it. Ren was no longer a faceless superior with orders to obey, but a young man that held my attention absolutely captive. His head was tilted back slightly, and I watched as his dark eyes took in my reaction. His face was tired—very tired—but so, so young. A smile slid onto his lips as I stepped away.

"I shouldn't—" I began hastily, not quite knowing how to finish.

"Sit, Caltrel," he invited quietly, voice raw without the growl of the filter.

I sank back down to my seat obediently.

"Satisfied?"

Was I? "Yes."

"Good."

I felt my face flush as I stared, trying to memorize his face. His eyes were guarded and did not betray his emotions as mine did. When his eyes narrowed briefly, I looked away. My heart thumped.

"Continue with your questions if you have them," he prompted.

I felt the instinct to decline, to leave the change behind and not think about it. But his presence was compelling, like a drug, and I found myself wanting to hear more of his voice. For a moment, I grasped for another question, not out of curiosity, but out of need. I bit my lip as I chose my wording, and I noticed the way his eyes caught the subtle movement.

"The Dark Side," I started. "What makes it more powerful than the Light?"

His response was calculated—I saw the lines on his forehead as he thought. "As you've no doubt learned, followers of the Light reject their emotions in favor of 'serenity.' The Dark teaches to embrace feelings and thrive on them. The Force flows strongly through one's emotions."

Not mine, I decided. I pushed away the thought. "Why would the Jedi choose a weaker Side?" I asked.

Kylo Ren shrugged minutely. "It is their way. They believe that evil lies in the Dark Side. That one may become 'seduced' by the power of it, and become consumed by it rather than wield it. There is no reason to resist the call to the Darkness." He spoke with conviction.

I speculated about why Ren knew so much about the Light Side, a supposedly extinct enemy. Had he been seduced himself? It was a question far too personal for me to ask.

"If you are finished, you may leave," he said, his tone suddenly businesslike. "I sense that you now have the answers you were seeking."

I felt a spike of panic at the thought that I would never get to see his face again. Moving reluctantly, I stood as he did and found myself staring mutely at him again. His power, his youth, his passion—it all commanded respect and compelled fear. He was surreal. I craved any of it—all of it.

"Will—" I tilted my chin back to look at him. Without his mask, his gaze set fire to my veins rather than fear to my heart. "Will we speak again?"

He nodded, his face schooled. "Yes."

I hid a smile as I turned. My heart raced with a different kind of excitement at the thought. I felt intoxicated.

"Be aware, Corporal," Ren added, his usual commander tone appearing. "I expect the same in your line of duty. Being familiar with me should not affect your service to the First Order or to me."

I felt a bit of mild surprise at the request, and turned to face him. His arms were folded behind his back, his shoulders squared, but his gaze lacked the amount of menace that I'd often pictured it had. His face was too young to be tarnished by such bitterness.

My response came easily. "It will be an honor to serve you, Kylo Ren."


	11. Lead

C-11: Lead

Phasma made a general announcement to all Stormtroopers to remain at full attention during General Hux's speech. It wasn't often that the general addressed the entire base, but apparently there had been a few incidences of Troopers falling asleep in the past.

It had been two weeks since the conversation with Ren. We hadn't spoken since—only random encounters in the hall comprised of silent salutes. I tried my best to put the conversation behind me, to ignore the longing that consumed me on lonely nights. But he was the last thought on my mind every night, and the first thought in the morning.

Vegas noticed the way I acted when the topic of Kylo Ren meandered into the conversation, and he would often test my reactions. It embarrassed me. During our physical fitness training one afternoon, he had asked me point-blank.

"You've fallen for Ren, haven't you?"

I had stopped halfway through a crunch and looked at Vegas. His face had been sober, unlike the usual jeer whenever he mentioned our superior. I had been tempted to ignore him, but knew that I would be admitting to something by it.

"I am loyal to Ren as I am to the First Order," I said diplomatically. I'd been out of breath and flushed from exercise, which concealed my mortification.

He had nodded, unconvinced. The question made me realize the truth that I hadn't fully admitted to myself yet. The thought stayed with me over the next few days, until the moment Vegas and I stood on the speaking platform behind our superior.

The entire base was assembled for Hux's announcement. The young general stood at the podium overlooking a host of three Stormtrooper battalions at attention. Ren, Phasma, and their closest officers stood to his right, and his personal guard to his left. The display was yet another reminder of the authority of the First Order.

"The day has come!" Hux exclaimed, raising his hands to acknowledge the hoard before him. "Through the Supreme Leader's powerful direction, we have completed a major step toward the destruction of the New Republic!"

His voice boomed through the crisp air of the hangar bay, which was open to the autumn chill of the outside world. Trees peeked through the wings of TIE Fighters that had been moved to the far side of the massive space. I mulled over every word as he went on to praise the might and the dedication of the First Order army.

"This day—this day is the official completion date of Project Starkiller, and the first day of operational testing of Starkiller Base!"

He went on to describe the sort of testing that would occur over the next few months, and how important our individual roles were. After twenty minutes of speaking about the labor and sacrifice that went into the success of Project Starkiller, Vegas leaned toward me.

"I forgot to tell you earlier," he muttered.

I smirked over at him. The volume enhancer in our Stormtrooper helmets made whispering virtually impossible. "What?" I asked.

Phasma heard me since I was closer. "Corporal," she barked out, not bothering to turn her head.

I immediately became a statue. Vegas wasn't deterred. "My boards came back this morning. I got the promotion."

I looked over at him, knowing there was a smile beneath his helmet. "Congratulations," I breathed, but it wasn't loud enough to be picked up by my helmet's speakers.

"I'll stay with recon, of course—"

"Sergeant."

It was Ren this time. We both faced about immediately, and my heart began a record breaking sprint in my chest.

As I stared ahead dutifully at the slope of Ren's neck underneath tight black material, Hux's words became background noise. My mind wandered. When Ren absently flexed his arm, my eyes followed the tendon that rolled beneath the material at his neck. I clenched my hands at my sides, and swallowed hard.

Hux stopped speaking a few minutes later, and the entire hangar erupted with shouts and cheers. After saluting our congratulations to the general, we exited the platform in formation.

Ren and Phasma walked side-by-side on the way to the speed lifts, with us four officers trailing behind. I didn't know Phasma's attendants, but we had nodded to each other in greeting before the speech had started.

"Your officers surely utilize their liberty within the recon team," Phasma observed. I noticed then that she was just as tall as Ren was.

"The standards of my team needn't be questioned, Captain," Ren bit back, obviously annoyed by the accusation.

Phasma turned as if to retort, but remained silent instead. The ride in the lift was silent agony as our two superiors exchanged faceless glares. Recently more than ever, their authority often clashed.

When just the three of us remained, Ren hit the reverse button on the lift and sent us ascending back to Level 1. He turned to us.

"The command shuttle is docked outside the hangar bay," he informed. Vegas and I exchanged confused glances.

"Sir?" I piped, heart pattering a bit.

"Snoke has seen another lead to Resistance activity in the Libra System. We're to follow it." His tone was clipped.

"The Libra System is at least a week away, sir—"

"I am aware, Sergeant," Ren said, emphasizing Vegas' new title. "Supplies have been transferred to the shuttle as well as a small unit of Stormtroopers."

I could tell Vegas was as surprised as I was. Why the rush?

When the lift arrived at Level 1, Ren halted it to seal the door. "This mission is of the upmost secrecy," he explained. "Only Hux and myself have knowledge of it."

I wondered why we weren't taking more Troopers if it was such an important mission. Picturing living on the command shuttle for at least two weeks wasn't very appealing either. Fortunately, Vegas had a much more positive reaction than I did.

"We're always ready, sir." He saluted, and then I did.

He nodded approvingly, and I felt a surge of pride as we left the lift. We weaved among the lingering Stormtroopers and busy pilots in the hangar until we came to an exterior blast door. Ren entered an access code and the door shunted open, revealing an outdoor landing pad that I never knew existed. As we boarded, Ren used his com to signal the pilot to take off.

Since the journey would be so long, Ren told us that we were each to have quarters on the top level of the ship. Vegas was familiar with the level since he'd been on long missions in the past, and he showed me to my room as Ren retired to his.

"Well—this was unexpected."

Vegas stood in the doorway of my quarters as I stepped inside, removing my helmet to familiarize myself with the room. It was almost identical to Ren's.

"Definitely," I agreed. Sinking into the nearest chair, I began peeling off my armor plate by plate. I noticed when Vegas lingered, fiddling with the leather rim of his helmet.

"Caltrel—"

"Vegas—"

We grinned at each other before I said, "Why don't you come in?"

There had been an unspoken boundary in place before now—we often interacted in training areas or on missions, but never personal spaces. He entered hesitantly, sensing the same barrier being crossed as I did.

"Thanks, Caltrel," he said, setting his helmet on the couch as he inspected the room. "It'll be nice having these for a few days."

"Two weeks," I corrected.

"The more time away from base, the merrier." He was smiling as he peeked through the bedroom door.

I flexed my fingers after removing my gauntlets. My body was stiff from waking early and standing at attention for almost an hour. I hummed in response to Vegas' sentiment, unsure if I agreed or not.

"You'll enjoy it," he said chidingly.

"Just like you'll enjoy me calling you 'sergeant'?" I teased, but he seemed to like the idea.

"And you'd better salute me, too. And follow all my orders."

"Yes, sir."

He laughed. I smiled.

I felt grateful for Vegas' presence now more than ever. It was hard to believe that we'd known each other just over a month—it felt much longer. So much had happened in those weeks, and Vegas was there for me more than anyone else. Since the first day I joined the First Order, he treated me as a peer and an equal.

I heard him call my name from the bedroom and I followed it, wearing just my leather bodysuit. A large viewport covered the entire back wall of the room, filling the space with the gentle glow of the stars. We hadn't yet entered hyperspace, and the stillness of the view struck me.

"Now who's complaining?" Vegas asked beside me.

"No one," I chuckled, becoming lost in the view. My worries seemed to be a million lightyears away.

"Good," he said, sounding satisfied. As he stalked out of the room, he said over his shoulder, "Don't forget about dinner, Corporal."

My eyes followed him. "What about it?"

"Well, Stormtroopers aren't allowed on this deck," Vegas began, as if imparting valuable knowledge. "And the last time I checked, you are the junior officer on duty."

I processed the statement as I stepped back into the sitting room. Vegas was picking up his helmet. "You mean, I have to—"

"Just grab me whatever's fresh," he teased, winking just before the door swooshed closed behind him.

Standing in a slight daze, I began to dislike the idea. Weren't there service droids for that? Level 10 on base was restricted for Stormtroopers but certainly not droids.

Would that mean that I had to deliver Ren's meals too?

I walked back into the bedroom, deciding to worry about it later. The bed suddenly looked very appealing. Stripping my leathers off to my plain linen underclothes, I sank down to the firm mattress and let my head fall onto the pillow.

My view erupted with stars. The viewport was sunken into the dark ceiling, almost identical to the one in my dormitory back in the fleet. I felt a twinge of sentiment in my chest, and closed my eyes tightly to dismiss the feeling.

Upon banishing my memories, they were replaced by thoughts of the mission. Two weeks was a long time to stay in one's quarters. Wouldn't he leave sometime? In any case, I guessed I would see him when I dropped off his meals. My mind spun off into hypotheticals about what he would say, what he would do; if I would get another chance to see his face, to hear his voice.

It was the soothing hum of the engines that eventually coaxed me to sleep. As usual, my dreams were filled with dark eyes and beckoning hands just beyond my reach.


	12. Search

C-12: Search

When I awoke, the night cycle had started already. I immediately noticed the sweltering heat that had caused my entire body to be drenched with sweat. After taking a cold shower, I commed Vegas and learned that the temperature regulator was malfunctioning. He was overseeing the engineer's slow progressing maintenance.

"We got the 'at ease' order from Ren earlier," Vegas had added.

I hesitated. "What does that mean?"

There was a dry laugh over the line. "Wear what you want."

I trudged through the heat in my black, snug fitting linens from a uniform set—there was little else stocked in the command shuttle. Glad to notice that the Stormtroopers had also taken the liberty of dressing down, I arrived at the galley just as sweaty as I'd been before using the refresher.

I was immensely grateful for the acquisitions officer I discovered working in the galley. He laughed when I told him that I thought I might have to make the meals myself. I returned to the top deck with three portions of rations.

After dropping my dinner off first, I discovered that Vegas hadn't returned to his room yet. I found myself using slow steps toward Ren's quarters at the opposite end of the hall.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I pressed the door signal, and then wiped the sweat from my brow. Rehearsing what to say in my head several times as I waited, I felt every word slip out of my mind when the door slid open.

His pale face was beaded with sweat, his cheeks flushed crimson. His clothes were similar to mine, and they accented his lean frame in a way I never noticed before. When my eyes traveled back up to his, he was watching me closely. I felt a bolt of nerves at the searching gaze.

"Thank you, Caltrel," he said with a slight rasp, holding out a hand.

I shoved the rations toward him, and my cheeks blazed for accidentally staring. "You're welcome, sir," I managed to say. "The crew is—er, working on the malfunction. They expect another few hours yet."

"So Vegas tells me." If I hadn't seen the small smile accompanying the statement, I would have taken it as mocking. Instead, I imaged that he was pleased by my initiative.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked in a breath.

"No, you're free to go." He nodded, and I threw a quick salute. "I'll summon the crew in the morning for the briefing."

"Understood, sir."

As I walked toward my room, I turned the small exchange over and over in my mind. I now understood why Stormtroopers weren't allowed on this level. Trust. Ren trusted Vegas, and he trusted me—more than any random Trooper. I felt honored.

After eating my meal in my quarters, I occupied myself with the supplemental reading I'd been assigned for that week. The command shuttle's database wasn't as extensive as the base's was, but it did have a few of the required modules. My mind wandered as my eyes traced over the dry textbook on tactical formations.

I imagined the dangerous and frightening Kylo Ren wielding his lightsaber, contrasting it with what I'd just seen. My feelings twisted together into a mix of fear and attraction. Attraction? I had to admit to myself that I was drawn to Ren much like a childhood crush.

It was admiration, I decided. Respect, probably.

After hours of aimless reading, Vegas told me over my com that the repairs were nearly complete. He also reminded me to drink plenty of water, which made me smile a bit. I gave up on the showers after drenching through another set of clothes.

When I stood up from my reading, my head spun and my limbs felt heavy. Deciding that two hours just wasn't enough time to sleep, I laid on top of my sheets in nothing more than my undergarments. The heat quickly lulled me back to sleep.

My dream was different than usual. The scenery felt much like my apartments back on Andromeda Prime. It was more the feeling of peace and calm than the actual environment. My body felt weightless as I drifted. The stars surrounded me, and I was home.

"It's interesting," a voice seemed to say after some time.

"What is?" I heard myself ask.

I felt a presence nearby. It was familiar, but I couldn't turn my head to look. "What you find to be comforting," it elaborated. "Stars are the opposite of peaceful."

When my reply was delayed and my mind flashed with possible responses, I realized that I had some form of control in the dream. A lucid dream. My vision focused. I wasn't on the Andromeda—I was on the command shuttle.

A lump rose in my throat, and I didn't feel as safe and comfortable as before. "I want to be home," I said honestly. My voice was small, like when I was young.

"I know," said the voice.

I needed to find the source of the voice. I stood on shaky legs and stumbled toward where I'd heard it. When I saw his face, I realized that I'd known it was Kylo Ren all along. He was a frequent character in my dreams, whether I could see his face or not. I marveled at the vivid detail that my mind had conjured.

"You can't leave," he told me stoically. "I need to find what I'm searching for."

My responses became as automatic as thought. "What are you looking for?"

"Answers."

"I can help," I piped. It never occurred to me that I was speaking casually to a superior.

He gave me a patient smile. "No, you can't."

I felt the sting of rejection alarmingly well. I'd never experienced such distinct emotion in a dream before. "Why not?" I asked, nearly in tears.

"Because …" There was a pause, and his face crumbled. Was he grasping for an excuse or genuinely confused? "You just don't know what I need to know."

Tears brimmed out of my eyes and left wet trails on my cheeks. I wasn't home, and now even Ren didn't want me around. Loneliness grabbed ahold of me like a hungry beast—I felt like an abandoned child.

"Come here," Ren said to me, extending a hand. I was folded into a gentle embrace, and my tears stopped. "Maybe I'll find my answers here." His voice was close. I wanted the closeness to last forever.

I was awake in the next moment, gasping from the sensations of my dream. My arms wrapped around myself when I realized how cold it was in the room. I looked around as I sat up, halfway expecting Ren to be somewhere nearby.

He wasn't. But my communicator was beeping.

"Caltrel," I grunted into my wrist, wiping my wet cheeks with the other.

"'Morning," Vegas drawled over the line. I was surprised when I realized that it was well into the day cycle already—how long had I slept? "I'm outside your door."

I jumped out of bed and grabbed a new set of clothes from the dresser. "One second!" I barked through the open bedroom door. I raked my fingers through my hair as I dashed to answer the door.

Vegas was standing there in a crisp uniform, looking impatient with two breakfast rations balanced in his arms. An amused smile appeared on his face when he saw me. "Overslept?"

I shook my head, and then nodded. "Sorry," I mumbled, gesturing for him to enter. "I don't know what came over me. I slept fourteen hours."

He was setting one of the trays on the table in the sitting room. I heard a scoff. "Next time you can babysit the crew while I sleep fourteen hours."

I felt a stab of guilt, but it was quickly eased when he threw me a cocky smile. "I would be happy to," I joked with a smile.

"It's a deal," Vegas said, leaving with the second tray. "Eat up—the brief is in an hour."

I didn't have a chance to thank him before the door closed. Sinking down to the couch, I took a moment to order my thoughts. The dream still remained heavily in my mind. The sensations lingered in my skin, and I rubbed my hands over my arms to dismiss the ghostly pressure.

While I ate, I couldn't decide whether I hated the dream or loved it. Only after a warm shower did I finally feel right in my own skin. I tried my best to turn my mind to the mission.

The common area easily held the entire crew—twenty Troopers, the pilot, acquisitions officer, and three engineering crewmen. Vegas and I watched the crew interact as we waited for Ren's arrival. They were exchanging stories about the heat wave the previous night. As I listened, I speculated that I had been hallucinating from dehydration rather than dreaming.

The room fell silent when Kylo Ren entered. His helmet slowly scanned the room, taking attendance. "I see that everyone survived the night," his mechanical voice observed dryly.

Vegas chuckled beside me, along with a few others. One of the Troopers called out, "Mostly, sir."

I got a different feeling from this mission—more casual, less edgy. Perhaps it was due to the fact that several days separated us from the task at hand.

Ren stood with his arms behind his back to address us. "You were all specially chosen for this mission, due to your outstanding discretion. As you know, Captain Phasma is not aware that you have been tasked to the reconnaissance team. Her knowledge of this particular mission would compromise its ability for success."

The statement was met with somber nods. I wondered what could indicate the need to go behind Phasma's back.

"Recent intel has led Supreme Leader Snoke to believe that several Resistance strongholds lie in the Libra System," Ren continued. "I have been ordered to undermine these operations by any means I see fit. Until the completion of Starkiller base, small strikes such as this will interfere with our enemy's coordination and overall effectiveness.

"Our focus will be infiltration and termination of Resistance personnel. You are to follow orders and gather whatever intel you can find."

One of the Troopers' hands went up. "Infiltration, sir?" he asked.

Ren nodded. "I will clarify your roles as we gain knowledge of our enemy's defensive status."

Another hand. "Sir, with due respect. Why so few of us?"

Ren straightened at the question, and his tone was brisk. "According to General Hux's assessment, one advantage that we currently hold over the Resistance is our anonymity. He does not wish to expose our full potential to the Resistance or the New Republic at this time."

I felt a bristling in the room. The Troopers certainly didn't agree with the strategy. Vegas shot me a look that told me he noticed too. I decided that their opinions didn't matter as long as they followed orders properly.

Ren had drawn the same conclusion. "You are here to follow orders," he said plainly, as if to settle the silent argument. "That is all I require of you."

An impulse struck me. "We're with you, sir," I said. I held up a prolonged salute, and the rest of the crew quickly followed suit.

Ren shifted, and I couldn't tell if he was pleased or troubled. "Thank you," he said graciously. "If there are no further questions, resume your normal training schedules."

The common area cleared quickly as the crew dispersed. Vegas and I hovered, waiting to be formally dismissed. When Ren drew near to us, I sensed his concern.

"Maintain a strong presence among the crew," he told us gravely. "Order must be strictly maintained."

"Yes, sir," we echoed.

He nodded with finality. "Dismissed," he said. His cloak whirled behind him when he turned to leave, and I watched until he disappeared into the hallway.

Vegas leaned down to murmur in my ear. "Ren's worried. Keep an eye on the Troopers."

"Why?" I asked, looking up at him. His forehead was creased.

"This far from base, they're feeling pretty loose. Don't forget—they're different from you and me." I saw his jaw clench as he tried to explain. "They're faithful to the Order first, and Ren second."

"Oh." Was I faithful to Ren first? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. "I'll watch them." I nodded, trying to reassure him.

Partially assured, Vegas left, muttering something about training. I tarried in the common room, turning over my thoughts about the mission and what had been said.

As usual, I was drawn to the massive window that opened the room to the void of space. We were in hyperspace, and the blue pulses of energy seemed to wash over me as I watched them. However pleasant the view was, I missed the twinkling stars of normal space. A memory from my dream struck me suddenly, and I was lost in it once again.

The stars are the opposite of peaceful.


	13. Infiltration

C-13: Infiltration

The days started to pass all too quickly. I fell into a routine of training and overseeing the crew. The times that I saw Ren were rare, as I started to deliver meals to an empty room. I often wondered where he spent his time, but even Vegas wasn't sure what he could be doing. I had a theory about the closed door in his quarters that I sometimes placed my ear against.

The planet looked orange from space. Having no noteworthy bodies of water or vegetation, the world was mostly desert. The landing zone was about a mile away from our target. When my boots hit the cooling sand, I was grateful for the chilly night sky above us. I took a moment to gaze at the unfamiliar constellations above us.

"Stay here and keep the area secured," Ren ordered me. "We'll return shortly."

Vegas gave me a sardonic wave as they two of them departed. I looked around at the handful of Stormtroopers that Ren had ordered on standby. When I realized that I was the standing superior, I felt an almost pleasant rush of empowerment.

"Split into groups of two and patrol a two-hundred foot radius around the ship," I told them. They saluted me. "You two"—I gestured to the two closest to me—"remain here."

About an hour passed, during which the patrols returned periodically to report the all clear. One team had been particularly excited to report the wreckage of spacecraft to the south. Eventually, Ren and Vegas returned with red sand dusted over every inch of them.

"The perimeter is secure, sir," I reported when they were close.

"Excellent," Ren said. "You're relieved, Corporal."

Vegas motioned for me to follow him toward the still open ramp of the ship. "We have a job to do, Caltrel."

I followed silently, wondering what they had discovered about the stronghold. The sand on our boots crunched on the metal ramp as we boarded.

"Vegas?" I finally asked when we were halfway to the cargo hold.

"There's going to be a distraction." I could hear the excitement in his voice even through the modulator of his helmet. "You and three Troopers will pose as traders, and Ren will—"

"Me?" I gasped out. "What about you?"

He looked back at me when he heard the concern in my voice. "I'll be with the rest of the Troopers on standby. Ren will sneak in behind you when their perimeter is down."

My heart started pounding. I was going to lead the infiltration? "Vegas, I can't—" My voice choked in my throat, and I swallowed hard.

"You can," Vegas barked, punching in the code for the cargo hold. "We'll be right behind you, Caltrel." He was confident, and that helped me regain my composure.

He took off his helmet and started rummaging around in one of the crates. "What are you looking for?" I asked.

"These," he said, holding out several tan colored outfits. They were ragged and stained with— "Put one on."

Biting my lip hard against a swell of nerves, I started to strip off my armor. "I can't believe this," I said distractedly.

Vegas moved close to me and took my shoulders in his hands. This position forced me to look him in the eye. "This isn't a suicide mission, Caltrel. Ren will do most of the heavy lifting."

Killing, my brain interpreted. I pressed my lips together. "Alright," I said, shrugging out of his grip. "I trust you."

Ren had already chosen the three Stormtroopers that would accompany me, and they changed into the outfits quickly. We added generic water canisters and blasters to complete the ensemble. I pulled my hair out of its bun and let it fall around my shoulders.

Without my helmet, I felt the wind sweep sand across my face, forcing me to squint. Ren briefed us as we prepared to leave.

"There is a village several clicks from the stronghold," he told the four of us. "You are traders from a space fairing convoy that came to trade with the locals. The villagers told you about the base's location. You have a shipment of refined titanium that you are looking to sell."

I committed the words to memory. "When will the rest of you attack?" I asked, feeling comforted by Ren's presence for once.

"I will attack covertly from the inside," he said. "When I have deactivated their perimeter, Vegas' squad will move in to assist." Ren's masked gaze fell heavily on me. "Your only task is distraction. Keep your cover and you won't be harmed."

I swallowed thickly at the order. When his helmet tilted expectantly, I croaked, "Yes, sir."

After a final check of equipment and assignments, my squad was off into the dark night. Ren led us to begin with. The three Troopers with me were all males, and two of them held heavy blasters. The silence was thick as we put distance between us and the command shuttle.

I glanced back at the men as I struggled to keep pace with Ren's broad steps across the desert sand. "Your names?" I asked.

"Thomas."

"Jax."

"Mandrel."

I nodded, hoping that I would remember.

"What should we call you, ma'am?"

Mulling it over briefly, I said, "Amara." It had been my mother's name.

We carried on in silence for about twenty minutes. My exposed skin itched from a fresh layer of dust and my feet ached from enduring the uneven terrain. When we reached a particularly tall sand dune, Ren instructed us to crouch behind the ridge. Beyond the edge, the stronghold sat seemingly in the middle of the desert.

"I will enter through the back while you enter through the front," he told me in a low voice. His helmet's speakers barely registered the words, but I was close enough to hear regardless.

I looked at the T shaped metallic hilt clenched in his right hand. I touched the small blaster strapped to my thigh. "Understood," I muttered, gathering my wits. With my wits came an electric current of fear.

Ren sensed it. "Don't be afraid," he rebuked quietly. I was sure the Troopers couldn't even hear. "I will be with you."

I felt tendrils of strength work their way into my body. My eyes found his masked face, still gazing over the ravine. Was it Ren's doing?

"We're ready, ma'am," the Trooper behind me said, breaking me out of my trance.

I stood on shaky legs. This was another test. I summoned as much false confidence as I could possibly muster. "Let's move out," I said, nodding down at Ren.

He vanished into the darkness as we began our trek down the slope. The pack of odds and ends on my back felt heavier as gravity dragged us downward. Too quickly, we were within visual range of the base.

In the faint light of the moon, I estimated that the metal structure could easily hold a hundred people. When we were about fifty feet from the gated entrance, the screeching sound of a proximity alarm sounded. I froze and felt my heart leap in my chest.

A sentry appeared from behind the gate. His body armor was mismatched, but the blaster perched on his shoulder was nothing to scoff at. "Identify yourselves!" he shouted.

I took a deep breath of air to put behind my voice. "We're traders!" I yelled over the blaring alarm. "We were told you're in need of supplies!"

The sound finally stopped, but the gate remained closed. The guard motioned downward with his gun. "Put down your weapons!"

Did we have a choice? I nodded to my men as I dug the blaster out of my pants. We piled them in the sand. "There—we're unarmed!" I called out.

A heavy metallic click sounded, and the gate shuttered open. The sentry waved us over. Keeping his weapon raised, he called to another guard to search us. They rifled through our clothes and bags until they were satisfied.

As we were ushered through the gatehouse, I heard the electric padlock around the perimeter reengage. I could only hope that Ren had made it in time.

"Who sent you?" the original guard asked. When we entered the ground level of the complex, he raised the face shield of his helmet. He was young.

"A merchant from the village," I said, trying to sound steady. "His name was—er, Javvik."

The soldier nodded. I could tell he didn't know one merchant from another. "And what are you selling?"

"Refined titanium."

We were approaching a freight lift of some sort—it was open on all sides. When we stepped on it, it trembled and began to ascend to the next level.

"There's a good chance we need some. I'm taking you to my commander," the guard said, granting me a tight smile. "I'm Lieutenant Tavis."

"Amara," I replied, nodding my greeting. "This is Thomas, Max, and Jandrel."

The men exchanged handshakes, and I was glad that Tavis didn't ask any further questions. He led us from the lift to what looked like an observational lounge, with a large desk in the center. He instructed us to stay there while he brought his superior.

Minutes passed and I became concerned. The men paced restlessly while I sat at one of the chairs in front of the desk, trying to rehearse a sales pitch in my head. I realized that my original training in diplomacy guided my word choices.

The sentry reappeared about twenty minutes later. He looked worried. "The commander is handling a … situation. If you'd like, you can wait for him here," he suggested.

"Is there anyone else I can talk to?" I asked.

Before Tavis had a chance to reply, the lights went out with the loud clank of a circuit breaker. Red emergency lights flickered on from the ceiling. Tavis was shocked. "That's—not normal."

The Troopers were looking at me, not nearly concerned enough. I sprang out of my chair. "What's going on?" I asked a bit frantically.

"I don't know," Tavis ground out. "You four should get back downstairs."

The lift shuddered as it took us back to the ground level. I couldn't think about our next move until the sound stopped. The red lights raked on my nerves and heightened my senses.

A squad of sentries was gathered in the entry area, seeming to form a blockade. Tavis told us to stay with them in order to remain safe. When I asked the other guards what was going on, they just told me to stay put.

My men looked at me in frustration, but I shook my head. We had orders to keep our cover.

Mere minutes later, a voice came over the loudspeaker system. "Attention personnel: our perimeter has been compromised. Seal exits and contain the intruders immediately."

Right after the announcement, a guard entered the room from the complex outside. "The First Order is here—I saw Stormtroopers!"

Several sentries followed him back outside, but I knew Vegas' squad would make short work of them. I sized up the remaining forces—they weren't much of a threat to our Troopers.

When I heard the sizzling crack of an electromagnetic weapon being charged, a red flag from my training went up inside my head. Their weapons are EM? Vegas' team was walking into a killzone.

After motioning my men to stay put, I slipped away from the group. I skirted around the dark edges of the room toward the exit to the outer complex. Crates and shadows concealed my retreat from the blockade of sentries.

When I was mere feet from dashing out to the open gate, I felt a hand grab hard on my elbow, pulling me back behind a stack of crates.

"Stay quiet," I familiar voice growled. A scream died in my throat.

I relaxed beneath the grip and caught my ragged breath. "They have EM weapons," I gasped out, trying to keep my voice low.

His grip eased but only slightly. "I know," I heard beneath a whisper. "Stay here," he ordered, releasing me. He vanished back into the darkness, leaving me shivering in the tense air.

I didn't dare peak from my hiding place, but I speculated that Ren planned to flank the blockade from behind. In the next moment, things began to happen one after another.

I heard indistinct shouts from the blockade. The sound of a canister sliding across the ground could be heard, and the room became enveloped in smoke within seconds. I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt, wishing for my helmet.

The explosive sound of the EM weapon rang out next, and several hair-raising screams filled my ears. I sprang out of my hiding place on instinct. One of them was Vegas—I knew it. White armor flashed through the smoke, along with red bolts of energy. I scurried toward the three Stormtroopers convulsing on the ground by the entrance. The one with a red shoulder had a large, exposed burn on his abdomen that had incinerated his armor.

I jumped when another pulse of electricity impacted to my right, but I knew what I had to do. Grabbing Vegas' arm, I dragged him out into the complex, away from the gatehouse. I snatched off his helmet to find him unconscious and still.

"Vegas!" I yelled, doing a quick scan of the courtyard. There were only dead bodies. I put my hand to the pulse point on his neck. I couldn't feel anything.

I started chest compressions without really knowing what I was doing. I threw my entire body weight into each thrust, as the battle inside continued in the background of my hearing. Ten, twenty minutes passed without change, and I began to desperately chant Vegas' name as I willed him back to consciousness.

"Freeze!" a voice yelled from behind me. When I whirled around, a guard was standing right behind me, blaster aimed. "Don't move," he bit out.

Vegas' gun had been left behind. I had no weapon. I slowly raised my hands and turned around, with my mind racing a mile a minute.

He was looking at me like I was an idiot. "He's the enemy," he stated slowly. His weapon charged to life with a whirr. "Are you a traitor?"

As I gaped in reply, the guard was raised off the ground by an invisible force. He clutched at his throat, and I immediately recognized the power of the Force. Ren was storming across the complex from the gatehouse, one hand outstretched and the other wielding his lightsabre. The man dropped flaccidly to the ground moments later.

The sabre retracted with a hiss when Ren reached me. He was staring down at Vegas. "He's alive," he stated.

I nodded in acknowledgement, grateful but numb. I couldn't feel my fingers because they had been digging into my palms. I relaxed my grip.

Ren stepped over Vegas' body to stand right in front of me. He grabbed my shoulders before I could step away, and I felt a rush of heat in my shock. He shook me, and his voice was all rage. "What were you thinking?"

My eyes stung. I didn't know what to think or what to feel. "It's—I'm—" I shook my head as I stared ahead through his chest, biting my lip. I felt his hands linger before he pulled away, muttering something about regrouping.

I stayed with Vegas as the remaining Stormtroopers carried him back to the command shuttle. Ren mentioned that our losses had been fifteen to eighty-five. The mission had been a success.


	14. Betrayal

C-14: Betrayal

"Ma'am, please move to the edge of the containment field," the medical droid repeated for the fifth time.

I stared at the stitched skin of Vegas' abdomen, wondering why they hadn't put a bandage over it. He was receiving multiple blood products and medications through tubes in his arms. Other tubes were draining toxins from his body. The droid had said that the skin graft had gone well, but that he was still in hematologic shock. He also had wires drilled into his chest to restart his heart when it stopped.

Much to the droid's relief, I moved away from the table and behind the glass of the observation room. My being there wouldn't help Vegas' condition anyway. An oxygen mask covered most of his face, but I could see his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.

Feeling a fresh batch of nausea, I left the medbay. I hadn't eaten since we left the planet, which I estimated to be about ten hours ago. Though Ren had been pleased about the mission's success, the remaining Stormtroopers—myself included—were not as thrilled. Most of their comrades were dead, and Vegas was dying.

In fact, I felt close to miserable. The approaching night cycle didn't help. Starvation didn't help. Nothing helped.

The acquisitions officer greeted me with a sad smile. I took two meals to the top deck this time. On my way through the ship, I received too many glances from the crew members. Had my connection with Vegas been that obvious? Or was I reading too much into those looks?

I was tempted to leave Ren's meal outside his door. As Vegas was rushed to the medbay, he had disappeared to his quarters. I felt as though he didn't care at all what happened to Vegas, and that made me mad.

I tapped the door signal anyway. I didn't even have to say anything, really.

He answered almost right away, and I could tell that he hadn't gotten much rest either. Wearing a fresh set of black robes, he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Caltrel," he greeted with a hoarse voice. He swallowed, an obvious movement in his throat. "Come in." He moved aside.

I set one of the trays on the sitting room table, feeling a bit lost in the room without something to report or debrief. Keeping my expression neutral, I looked at him. "Anything else, sir?"

The briefest of smiles ghosted over his thin face as he crossed the room to sit down. "Stay and eat," he instructed.

I didn't want to. I wanted to go back to my room and sleep. Nonetheless, I sat across from him and picked up the blandest thing on my plate.

He poured himself some water from the pitcher nearby. I felt his eyes on me as he offered a second glass to me, and I took it with a muttered word of thanks. I didn't want to look at him.

Ren sipped his water without touching his food. "I sense your anger with me," he stated plainly.

"I'm not angry with you," I denied, overanalyzing the bread in my hands.

He let me simmer. I felt my frustration boiling underneath my skin, so much that I shook. The silence was heavy and words hovered between us.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he said at last.

I felt another flash of annoyance at the request—didn't he already know what I was thinking? I shook my head distractedly, intending to put that thought to words.

"Caltrel," his voice rumbled, "look at me."

Looking up through my lashes, I found his expression to be not too pleased. His eyes were full of demands. "Vegas is going to die," I blurted, feeling my appetite vanish.

"He isn't going to die," Ren reassured.

My eyes stung, and without thinking, I stood up. "How can you know that?" I demanded in a voice that was not my own.

Ren closed his eyes briefly, and I could hear him take a deep breath. "Vegas' will is strong. I can feel him—even now."

I tried to calm the swell of my emotions at the mild comfort. It didn't work. "Have you even seen him? Did you see what that weapon did to him?" I couldn't stop the tears from coming.

Ren matched my aggressive posture. "Yes, I did," he said somewhat defensively. "Others—"

"Then you know he has a thirty percent chance of surviving," I bit out, words trembling.

The brief surprise in his eyes betrayed him, but his voice was steeled. "That is a number from a computer program, Caltrel."

"His heart his fibrillating. His kidneys are failing. He can't even breathe on his own because his muscles are breaking down!"

My voice was almost hysterical. I couldn't stop the tailspin of my emotions, and every single one showed on my face. Ren's expression was almost horrified.

"I can't account for all that." His voice was low with an edge of humility that was new to me. "However, there's nothing we can do but wait."

Still, I looked at him with enough malice to burn holes in his helmet were he wearing it. "You don't care at all, do you?" I accused.

He was shaking his head. "Of course I do," he ground out, losing patience.

"Then why did you put him in that situation?" I was shouting without reservation now.

Ren's eyes were aflame as they bore into mine—hostile, almost violent. "He knew the risks. He didn't question me."

"That doesn't make it right! And you know—"

My body didn't react when he lunged toward me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking hard. In an instant, my anger turned to fear. When I could see again, his face was flushed and cut with rage. "Vegas is like a brother to me!"

The next moments were so quiet that my ragged breathing sounded like a scream. Warm, silent tears rolled down my cheeks, and my arms throbbed painfully in his grip. Ren seemed to look right through me in an angered haze. When his hold got even tighter, I let out a yelp of pain.

"Lucia … Caltrel." His eyes saw me now, and like watching a burning house I couldn't look away. "I put all of you in uncalculated danger. You have every right to be angry at me."

I only blinked.

"But never"—his tone became menacing—"never will you question me."

I couldn't speak around the huge lump in my throat, so I just nodded. In my mind I begged him to let me go. It felt like standing too close to a thermal heater. As he finally released his vice-like grip on me, it was accompanied by a small shove towards the door.

"Leave."

His back was turned to me. For the first time, I truly knew deep in my heart that Ren was disappointed in me. More than disappointed—betrayed. That realization hit me like a smack in the face and left me speechless.

My legs carried me out of the room on autopilot. I stood in the middle of my quarters in shock, turning the argument over in my mind a thousand times. Whatever connection I felt with Ren was now a cold black hole in my mind. Coupled with the thought of Vegas, it was enough to tear my heart into two pieces.

It wasn't Ren's fault that Vegas was dying. It was the Resistance. It was the Republic.

The Republic.

The stars held no comfort for me that night, and I found myself longing for the dark safety of Starkiller base. I stared at the twinkling dots until my mind was numb, empty of my worries.

My sleep was dreamless.

I remember waking up several times with a cough, and I wondered each time if I was dying from dehydration. When I finally woke up for good, my head was pounding. Even though the room was cold, I was drenched with sweat.

I sat up on the side of my bed and put a shaky hand on my forehead, wondering what was wrong with me. After a too brief warning from my fevered body, I was emptying the contents of my stomach in the fresher. My hands shook horribly as I cleaned myself up, and I proceeded to throw myself back in bed. Sleep it off!

Maybe thirty minutes of restless sleep later, nausea struck again and sent me back to the fresher to dry heave in front of the toilet. When a voice awakened me some time later, I realized that I'd fallen asleep on the fresher floor.

"Ma'am? Are you there?"

The voice came from my com which was trapped against the floor, digging painfully into my wrist. I adjusted myself stiffly.

"Yes," I said gruffly into my wrist. "I'm here."

Sitting up, I was surprised by how refreshed I felt.

"Is everything alright, Corporal?" the Trooper asked.

My legs were shaking when I stood, but they supported my weight. My arms throbbed. "Yes," I repeated. "I'll be in the medbay if you need me."

"Do you need help?" An edge of concern.

I looked down at wrinkled clothes as I supported myself on the edge of the sink. The thought of Troopers carrying me off to the medbay was almost laughable. "No, I'm alright."

My head was spinning by the time I got there, and I decided that I was definitely not alright. Something was wrong with me, and that thought filled me with dread. My vision was tunneled and gravity felt like a vice.

By the time the medbot spotted me, the flustered droid led me passed Vegas to the second medroom. The cold leather mattress bit at my skin as I half-consciously explained my symptoms. I barely felt the sting of the needle when it took a blood sample from my arm. Machines were attached to monitor my vitals, but the beeping wasn't enough to keep me from sleep.

This time, I dreamed of burning houses.


	15. Sickness

C-15: Sickness

Stars and other three-dimensional objects floated through my dreamscape—everything was warm. In fact, I was content just to be there.

Oh. I realized I was on a ship in space, looking through a window. That made more sense. Vegas sat quietly nearby, and Ren stood beside me with a masked gaze. Neither of them seemed to notice me, so I stared out in silence.

After a minute, I heard myself say, "I'm sorry."

Ren regarded my statement briefly. "It's nothing," mused the modulated voice.

I wanted to see his face, but I knew that he wouldn't take off his helmet. Instead, I looked over my shoulder at Vegas. "Will he be okay?" I asked in a small voice.

"I don't know," came the robotic reply.

When I made to move toward Vegas, I realized that my hand was being held in a tight grip. I looked down at the gloved hand covering mine.

My nails scraped painfully against the leather padding, causing my eyes to snap open in surprise. Nothing but air was in my grasp, and I sucked in a mouthful as my surroundings settled around me.

The medbay. According to the large timepiece on the wall, only a few hours had passed since I'd dragged myself there. I felt more exhausted than ever, and hungry. When I heard the medbot whirring somewhere nearby, I called out to it.

"Good morning, ma'am," it said pleasantly, as if everything was normal.

I felt far from normal. My chest ached as though something ginormous was pinning me down—in fact, my whole body felt heavy. "What's wrong with me?" My voice cracked from dryness.

"You have been diagnosed with an unidentified viral infection. For full diagnosis and accurate treatment, I recommend archiving water and air samples from the planets you have visited in the last two weeks."

That's not going to happen, I thought bitterly. "Will I recover without a full diagnosis?" I asked.

The medbot paused to process the query. "If you continue to improve at your current rate, you will be fully recovered within 72 hours."

I breathed a short sigh of relief before realizing how long three days sounded. How many days of hyperspace did we have left before arriving back to base? My memory was cloudy, but I did remember Vegas and the mission.

Sitting up on my elbows, I took a few moments to try to orient myself. A catheter in my arm was connected to bags of fluids and medications, just like Vegas. Electrodes were stuck to my chest which displayed my heart rhythm on a nearby monitor. I winced when I realized something was also … down there. When I felt blood rush to my head, I rested back down with a quiet sigh. The pillow beneath my head was too hard.

"Droid," I mumbled, "can I return to my quarters soon?"

"No," came the chilly reply. "Unfortunately, your virus is highly contagious."

Frustrated, I pressed my cheek into the cool leather pillow as I tried to get comfortable. What I saw out of the corner of my eye shocked me. Ren laid in a bed the same as mine, eyes closed, bare chest rising and falling quickly.

My eyes fell back to the droid with an almost incredulous look of betrayal. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The droid's blank expression seemed to portray innocence. "Master Ren was admitted shortly after you were, Corporal."

I couldn't help but look over at Ren's monitors, wondering if I had transmitted the sickness to him. "How is he?" I asked.

The droid analyzed briefly. "He has an abnormally high body temperature that is worsening his symptoms. His illness is in the same stage as yours."

I wished that I could see Vegas too, but the windows between medrooms were tinted. I guessed that Ren and I were in quarantine. "Have any others become sick?"

"Not yet," the droid said. "Epidemic protocols have been initiated. Crew members will be screened for symptoms at the beginning and end of each shift."

I realized with a start that the three senior officers were currently locked in the sickbay. According to protocol, the highest ranking pilot was now in command. I decided it was a good test of loyalty if anything.

"Thank you," I said to the droid, feeling an unusual amount of gratitude toward a machine.

"It's my pleasure," it said warmly, just as I was closing my eyes.

The next days passed alarmingly fast. I woke up about every ten hours with the same heavy feeling, just to be reassured by the medbot. I soon forgot how many times I actually opened my eyes.

I didn't feel as tired when I awoke one particular day cycle. In fact, I felt immediately restless when I realized that my entire body ached from lying down so long. Careful of the tubes in my arms, I rose up on my elbows and looked around. Right beside my bed, Kylo Ren stood completely healthy with a scowl on his face.

"Ren—" I stopped short, not knowing what to say. What's going on?

"How do you feel?" he asked shortly.

I blinked through my surprise. "Fine," I replied automatically. When I took a moment to take in my surroundings, I realized that my body no longer had any medical objects stuck in it. I unconsciously rubbed the place on my arm where the catheter had been.

"How are you?" I asked, realizing quizzically how ordinary it sounded.

"Better," he admitted, nodding absently. "The droid told me that we're both cleared from quarantine."

I felt a spark of excitement when I realized that meant we could leave. "Did anyone else…," I trailed off when I noticed two other bedridden occupants across the room.

"Just those two," Ren said, and I then recognized them as two of my guards from the mission. "They're in the late stages. It lasted 48 hours for me; almost 72 hours for you."

I let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad it's over," I said, pushing myself to the edge of the bed to test my body's tolerance.

My head immediately began spinning, and I felt gravity pull me downward. Ren reached to steady me, but I just laid back down. My limbs felt like lead.

"I know it's hard," I heard Ren say through the buzzing in my ears. "But I'll help you."

I felt hands pulling me up by my shoulders, and I unconsciously grabbed at them to stop them. Instead, they held me steady in a sitting position, and I blinked to clear my vision. When it finally did, my embarrassment practically exploded onto my face.

"Thank you," I mumbled, slipping away from him. I forced my feet onto the floor and resisted a full-body convulsion at the ice cold contact.

"It's nothing," said Kylo Ren as he turned to give me some privacy. Noticing that I wore flimsy medical garb, I reached for the spare robe folded neatly at the bedside. Ren was wearing a light set of training garb.

As we left the medbay, I was troubled to see Vegas lying in the same way he had been three days before. My gaze lingered on the healing wound on his abdomen.

"He's unchanged," Ren answered my unspoken question.

I was suddenly reminded of my dream, and of our argument. A dark emotion took hold in my chest. "I'm sorry," I said to Ren. Tears were starting to gather in my eyes as I stared unblinking at Vegas. "He … knew the risks."

There was a pause during which I wondered what kind of face Ren wore. "You didn't," he said emphatically.

When I closed my eyes, hot trails of tears seared down my face. I pretended to rub my face with the sleeve of my robe, hoping to be discreet. "Now I do," I said thickly.

"Caltrel." Ren took full hold of my attention. "Who did this to Vegas?" he asked, much like a teacher would.

As my mind flashed to the answer, I recalled that Ren had said that Vegas was like a brother to him. Was this Ren's way of proving that he wouldn't have intended for something like this to happen?

"The Resistance," I answered with more malice than expected. Putting a hand on the glass wall in front of me, I leaned my weight forward to fight sudden fatigue.

I was met with Ren's silent approval. My stomach twisted when I pictured Vegas' still chest and unmoving eyes from that horrific moment. How could I possibly forget? If Vegas died, I swore to myself that I would fight the Resistance as hard as I possibly could.

"I hate them," I added hoarsely, surprising myself. "I just …" My chest ached.

"Good," Ren said. "Remember that feeling."

Even with both hands on the glass, I couldn't keep myself upright. I couldn't tell if it was fatigue or nausea or a combination of the two. I felt myself slump forward in my weakness. Arms slid around me, holding me, and thought the warmth was nice.

Did I fall asleep?

Seemingly moments later, I felt the impact of a familiar bed underneath my body. The arms around me lingered and I gathered the strength to return the embrace.

"This doesn't feel like a dream," I murmured into a warm shoulder.

I bunched the thick material beneath my hands into a fist.

"Ren?" I asked, and it suddenly did seem like a dreamscape.

"Yes," came the rush of warm breath in the crook of my neck.

"Thank you," I murmured, unsure if the words alone conveyed my gratitude. I felt a quiet laugh shake our bodies. Any reply was lost as I slipped off into restful sleep.


	16. Success

C-16: Success

Training the next day felt like a waking nightmare. If it weren't for the concerned Stormtroopers watching me, I would have given up at the first achy sit-up. I pressed on as the good role model I was, and was fairly certain that a few tears escaped when I took a long, hot shower in the gym fresher.

The crew was in high spirits as we approached Starkiller Base. To everyone's surprise, Kylo Ren had personally thanked the pilot who was in command during the acute phase of Ren's illness. It seemed as though the crew had been determined to pull through for us. I was happy and proud, but also wished that Vegas could share the feeling as well.

All too soon after docking, my communicator was pinged by Captain Phasma. When I asked Ren what I should tell her, he said, "You'll be reporting to Hux for this mission, Caltrel."

Sufficed to say, I was a trembling mess as Ren led me toward what I assumed was Hux's office. Why couldn't I change into my armor beforehand?

As we approached a massive door with a biometric reader in place, I realized that it couldn't be Hux's office. The doors groaned as they opened to reveal a large communication chamber. Dozens of holopads surrounded the long walkway in the middle of the room, which ended before one giant holopad.

Never had it felt so cold underground. It seeped right through my uniform into my skin.

Ren, undeterred, paced boldly down the walkway with me following close. "Do not speak unless spoken to," his filtered voice said over his shoulder.

I probably couldn't speak even if I tried.

Hux was waiting for us at the end with a diplomatic smile on his face. "Welcome back, Lord Ren."

"General," Ren said gruffly, obviously not in the mood for pleasantries. "I trust all is well."

"Of course," Hux intoned. "Though I regret to hear about Sergeant Vegas' injury."

Ren inclined his head by way of thanks, but remained silent. General Hux glanced back to where I was half hiding behind Ren, and flashed an icy smile. In my mind, the look said, Why wasn't it her?

As if on cue, the large holopad flickered to life with the image of a stooped old man. A hood, much like Ren's, covered most of his face. Supreme Leader Snoke.

Hux and Ren respectfully knelt on one knee, and I quickly copied their stance. I felt like the largest speck in the room. Surely Vegas had been in my place before, so my presence wasn't so out of the ordinary.

"Lord Ren, it is good to see that you have returned safely," the old man said almost kindly.

"Thank you, Supreme Leader." I'd never heard Ren's voice hushed with such respect. "I am here to report on the success of the mission."

Snoke tilted his head to the side. "Who is this?"

Ren glanced halfway at me, as though surprised that his superior would take notice of me. However, he maintained his composure. "This is Lucia Caltrel."

"Oh, yes," Snoke said drolly. "You may proceed."

My heart stuttered. He's heard of me? A voice in my head reminded me that Supreme Leader Snoke had approved my joining the First Order originally. His casual manner was unexpected.

Ren then summarized the mission from beginning to end. When it came to the part about the casualties of the Stormtroopers, Snoke didn't even flinch. I realized in that moment why this mission went over Phasma's authority—she would never have approved of such risks. This is the real First Order.

"Supreme Leader, as you know, we have acquired many other leads about Resistance strongholds such as this," Hux added after Ren's report. I noticed how Hux's eyes remained on the floor.

"Good, good. Keep me updated on your strategy to undermine them, Lord Ren."

"Yes, Master," Ren said.

"You're dismissed, then."

After saluting, the three of us exited in silence. The corridors outside the room seemed warm in comparison. As we made our way back to the speed lift, I was speechless.

"He was very pleased, Ren," Hux said at length, almost giddy.

"He was," Ren agreed easily, not seeming to mind Hux's energetic manner for once. "This is the first of many steps, Hux. I can feel it."

They were both very proud. I almost felt like an intruder as we boarded the lift, pressing our respective floors. My desire to visit Vegas overrode the need for a proper shower.

"Oh, Corporal, I'll expect your written report by the end of the day," Hux said. "Same goes for that pilot of yours, Ren."

"Understood," Ren intoned.

I nodded, taken off guard by the General's casual attitude. Was this the norm in the higher ranks?

My communicator pinged once again as the lift took off, and I silenced it quickly. Ren gave an audible sigh and pressed the button for Level 20, where Phasma's office was located. "Go on, Caltrel. She knows not to interfere with me."

"Yes, sir," I chirped, feeling a burst of nerves at the thought of an angry Phasma inquisition. The two of them exited together on Level 10, and I began to rehearse excuses in my head as the lift descended again.

When Phasma greeted me with a cold, "38," I felt like she was already accusing me of some heinous crime. Her silver gaze was leveled squarely on me, which was rare considering the amount of messages pilled on her desk. I fidgeted in my seat.

"Captain." I forced an uncomfortable smile.

"Vegas—what a shame," she said coldly. "Superior officer."

"There's hope for his recovery," I said quickly, feeling defensive.

"Right, of course." Phasma leaned forward in her seat across the desk. "I'd like a brief report, Corporal."

I took a deep breath through my nose before saying, "I am reporting to General Hux on behalf of the recon team, Captain."

A dry laugh filtered through her helmet, as though she had expected the answer. "Off the books then, 38. What happened out there?"

I questioned my trust of Phasma, twisting my fingers in my lap. If I confided in her, would my lack of discretion make it back to Ren? She noticed my hesitation.

"This will stay between you and I," she assured, and I didn't sense any ulterior motives from her.

I swallowed, hesitating until I found the right words. "I was a part of an infiltration team," I said vaguely. "Vegas was injured during the insurgence."

"Infiltration" wasn't Phasma's style, and I could practically see her frown. She was so still I could've mistaken her for a statue. "Risky," she commented.

I nodded my agreement, feeling like my tongue was sandpaper. "Very."

"Ren's idea?" she pressed.

"Yes."

"Would you say he took the situation into his own hands?"

The question puzzled me for a moment. "He was the commanding officer …"

Phasma seemed to rephrase the question. "Would you say he put the mission before the team?"

Then, I understood. She was trying to trap me into contradicting Ren, to question his judgement. If she had asked me several days before, I thought, I definitely would have. "He did," I agreed.

There was an awkward pause. "And?" she said, gesturing for more.

"And we followed his orders, and the mission was a success." The tone of my voice sounded cold even to me, and Phasma balked.

"I see," she said furtively. "That's all I wanted to ask, 38."

"Ma'am." I stood, saluted, and turned to leave. I felt as though I had put up a good front for the captain.

"If you have concerns about the recon team," Phasma added as I left, "please include them in your report to Hux."

I mulled over the idea as I rode the lift to the medical level. I wouldn't have a "concern" if Vegas hadn't been injured. Really? My own thoughts sounded foreign in my mind. Had I become insensitive to death? I shook off the troubling thoughts.

Vegas was the only patient in the intensive care area of the medical level. I soon found out that several droids were assigned to him. One of them explained to me that they had started a new medication that would improve his condition. The droid even threw in a snappy insult at the command shuttle medbot, which made me a little nervous.

What I noticed right away was the color in Vegas' face. His heartrate was much faster than before, and the breathing tube was no longer down his throat. Had the previous medbot been taking too many precautions?

Against the medical droid's advice, I keyed in the override code to the containment field and entered Vegas' room. The air was warm inside. I sat on the bedside and watched Vegas' chest rise and fall with slow, even breaths.

I found his hand underneath the thin sheets and gripped it tightly.

"You look so much better," I said, as if he could hear me. I noticed how chiseled his face looked compared to before. Eating through a tube for a week had its consequences.

Some dark feeling swirled in my chest, something I didn't want to feel. I stomped it out. As I stared absently down at Vegas, I said with a bit of an edge, "Hurry and wake up. I'm done crying for you."

Despite the words, my eyes pricked with unshed tears. Even though I'd just shown such a brave face to Phasma, I still felt scared inside. There were suddenly so many situations in my life that I couldn't control. When I stopped that actually think about it, I felt overwhelmed.

Suddenly, I felt Vegas' hand shift in my grip. I froze, moving my eyes back to his face. His brow was furrowed like it sometimes was, but other than that, he was still. I leaned forward to listen to his breathing—was it changed? Was he even breathing?

When my ear was close to his mouth, I heard, "You cried for me?"

Startling back, I looked at his closed eyes with utter shock. A smirk slowly eased its way onto his chapped lips, and I felt a gulp of air catch in my throat.

"Vegas!"

"Yeah," he croaked, head shifting weakly. "I can't open my—"

Throwing myself at him, I hugged as much of his torso as I could reach. A few uncontrollable sobs or laughs or something wracked my body as I clung to him. "Vegas, I—I thought you would die!" I choked out.

I felt a tired sigh against my hair. His voice was a whisper. "Sorry."

"Thank the stars," I breathed, trying to contain my excitement. My heart was racing!

"C'mon, Caltrel," he laughed dryly. "How long was I out?"

"A week," I said seriously, pulling back so I could see his face. His eyes were barely open, and it looked like a big effort. "I'll get a warm cloth," I said, standing.

"Hey," he said, hand tightening on my arm. "Let me see you."

I sat speechless for a moment, still trying to let the good news sink in. He watched me with a smile on his face. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he mumbled, and I decided he was delirious.

"You can barely see me," I laughed, shaking loose his hand. "Let me get a cloth."

The basin in the room had only cold water, but it would do. When I turned back to the bed, I caught sight of Ren standing behind the glass wall of the medroom. His helmet was tucked under his arm. My heart jumped when he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling me to stay silent.

I wondered if he was as happy as I was.

I pressed the cloth to Vegas' eyes first, remembering how my sister used to take care of me when I was sick. With a snort, he reached up and took the cloth, roughly wiping his face. "I'm fine, Caltrel."

"You weren't," I protested, keeping my hands to myself.

"Yeah," he said, tossing the cloth to the bottom of the bed. His voice sounded a little stronger. "My head still feels …," he trailed off, putting a palm to his forehead.

I leaned forward, trying to hear the words he was muttering. "Vegas, I can't hear you," I said with a furrowed brow.

He looked at me from beneath his hand, which was blocking the light from his eyes. "Come here," he rasped below a whisper.

Leaning down, I turned my ear toward his lips again. I felt a hand snake into my hair and gently turn my head. His lips brushed against the corner of my mouth, and I jerked automatically. "Vegas," I hissed, half panicked and half surprised.

"Sorry." His breath was heavy against my cheek as his hand slipped away. "I'm a little high."

I almost laughed through my shock, but I had a guilty feeling eating away at my stomach. The feeling of his stubble lingered on my skin. "Just sleep it off," I whispered, placing a small kiss on his forehead.

His eyes closed, and it seemed as though he was already asleep. I have to leave. I brushed the wrinkles out of my clothes as I stood. When I opened the door to leave, I realized that Ren was already gone. My gut twisted a bit.

Did he see?


	17. Bond

C-17: Bond

Vegas' recovery lasted three days more. I didn't visit him often—maybe once a day. As he became more and more coherent, it became obvious that he had no memory of attempting to kiss me. He talked about getting back to work and about how he "practically came back from the dead." Ren visited once or twice, but he never mentioned that time to me.

Between required reading and time at the shooting range, I was busy. I was also assigned to observing Sergeant Bach's interrogations, which mainly consisted of rank offenses and the occasional unapproved transport request. I didn't really have time to worry about Ren.

However, the morning of Vegas' discharge, I was restless. The medbot had told me that Vegas would require several days of rest in his quarters. No interrogations were on the agenda that day, and I was dissatisfied with the extra time I found on my hands.

Remembering an old suggestion from Captain Phasma, I went to the patrol officer and requested a shift. He was shocked by having a recon officer asking for busy work, but he quickly offered the list of available patrols. He assured me that an officer of my caliber would not require the usual entourage.

Perusing the list, I saw a grid number that I wasn't familiar with. "Where is this?" I asked.

The officer smiled as he answered. "That's the new plant for the shield generator project."

When I realized the site was several clicks away from base, I eagerly accepted it.

As I donned my armor later that afternoon, I added the thermal inlay suit that I was always curious about. It felt tight and stuffy as I traveled to the flight deck on Level 1. The outside conditions were brisk rather than frigid, and I immediately regretted the extra layer. My communicator pinged off the coordinates of my patrol as I got closer.

A familiar body of water quickly came into view, which took me back several months. The geothermal generators stored beneath the planet's natural bodies of water were now familiar to me. I remembered the fear and confusion that my first encounter with them caused, and the unthinkable events that followed. My urgent pace began to slow when I caught sight of the frozen lake between the pine branches laden with snow.

Seems like an eternity ago.

The powdery snow banks by the lake's edge were knee deep. Watching the flurries of snow dust across the frozen surface through my visor was almost mesmerizing. Though I'd seen snow in pictures and vids, this was the first time experiencing it myself. I felt a rare bit of peace settle over me as I enjoyed the simple pleasure.

The thought sent up a red flag in my mind, and I pondered it. If I was only at peace away from base, what did that mean? I hadn't evaluated the concept since joining the First Order. Peace was a good thing, right?

"Caltrel, I don't recall seeing your name on this patrol."

The fight-or-flight response shot through my body from head to toe, but I managed to stay still. The voice was familiar.

"I volunteered," I offered, turning to face him.

His dark apparel stood out starkly against the white background. His hair had specks of snow suspended in place that would soon vanish. "I see," he said in a pleasant tone. He seemed well rested.

"I thought you were leaving today," I said, and then regretted how accusing it sounded.

He didn't seem to mind. "Tonight," he clarified.

I nodded, remembering the not-so-subtle hint from Hux that I wasn't invited. After the last mission, I didn't mind sitting one out.

Ren drew closer and I then noticed that his helmet was sitting on a rock nearby, the snow carefully dusted away. His eyes appeared a shade lighter in the outside light, his skin a shade more pale. I watched him cast his gaze across the frozen lake, seeming to appreciate the view.

"I asked Hux to take your place on this mission," Ren said, folding his arms behind his back as he stood beside me. I turned back toward the lake and admonished myself for staring.

"Thank you," I said. The genuine gratitude I felt surprised me a bit.

I saw Ren nod out of the corner of my eye, and then he vanished from my peripheral. My heart pattered a bit when I felt his presence behind me. His hands found the release on my helmet and then paused.

Abruptly uncomfortable, my hands instinctively found his and guided my helmet off. My hair, which I had swept lazily into my helmet, fell loose around my armored shoulders. The cold air that hit my face nearly took my breath away.

"The view is much better to the naked eye," Ren explained, moving to place my Stormtrooper helmet beside his own.

The mix of surprise and confusion left me speechless, and I simply stared out at the wintery sight before me. The violation of my "comfort zone" was a surprise, but not unwelcome. "It—It is," I agreed in a daze.

When Ren came to stand beside me again, I took a moment to appreciate the rarity of the situation. Far away from base, I felt that we were truly and very alone. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, and my nerves steadily went down.

"I was captured nearby here," I said at length, as if that was so important.

Ren gave a hum of acknowledgement. "That's right—you saw one of the geothermals."

I gave a breathy laugh. "Yes. I'm surprised you remember."

Ren seemed to pause before his reply. "It was an interesting day," he said lightly.

I remembered how terrified I was of the First Order back then. I remembered how close I was to being executed, and how desperately I wanted to live. In retrospect, a great amount of mercy was taken upon me.

"I'm grateful," I said amid my self-reflection. I felt Ren's glance and continued. "To the First Order—for sparing me."

I wanted to read Ren's expression but I was too anxious to make eye contact. "It was thanks to Leader Snoke." A pause followed, but I heard him take a breath as if to continue. "He trusted my judgement, in the end."

The small insight surprised me. It was Ren's judgement that spared me? I was reminded of the time that he'd told me that he saw potential in me. He practically heard my unasked question.

"My Master is generous when necessary," he said vaguely.

I nodded in acknowledgement and fixed my eyes back on the lake. "I suppose my Master is, too," I said flippantly, and then flushed in embarrassment. I never called him "master" to his face.

"Lucia."

The name, foreign to me by now, put a stop to all my scattered thoughts. I looked at him in response and his eyes held me captive. They were like an idly blazing flame.

"You and I—" he started intently, "I believe we are forming a bond that is deeper than superior and subordinate. Though we do not share a connection to the Force, I consider you my student. My apprentice."

I felt my jaw set as I listened. Bond? Apprentice? Several silent moments passed as I processed the information. I didn't even mind the wind blowing my hair across my face as I watched Ren's expression change from moment to moment.

"Do you understand?" Ren asked at my silence, a small furrow on his brow.

"Yes," I said, wrapping my mind around the idea. "But—what does an apprentice do?"

Ren's expression was schooled again, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The question was stupid in retrospect, but his answer was simple. "Obey always," he said.

Oh. I supposed I was already an apprentice—I had never defied Ren's orders. I had questioned them, argued them, but never disobeyed.

"I am an apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke just as some Knights of Ren were apprenticed to me," he continued by way of explanation. His teaching demeanor was hard to read.

The idea was sounding better and better. It almost felt natural. I swallowed the lump in my throat so my voice wouldn't waver. "I'm honored to be your apprentice, Lord Ren."

The small smile that played across his face caught my eye, and my cheeks blazed. Though I'd heard many officers call him "lord" before, I had never used the formal title. In my head, it sounded better than "master." My eyes fell.

"Don't be ashamed," Ren said with mirth in his tone. "Look at me."

When I made eye contact again, he was a few steps closer to me. If I reached out an elbow's length, I could touch him. The wind blew at a new angle that sent shivers through my spine. When his gloved hand touched my cheek, I flinched out of instinct. He frowned a bit, and I tried my hardest to stay still when his hand cupped my cheek again. After a brief moment, his hand dropped back to his side, and our gazes returned to the frozen lake before us.

The moment wasn't awkward, but rather far from what I wanted. My fingers unexpectedly ached to take his hand and press it against my cheek, to feel the warm of his skin against mine. I hid these thoughts behind a placid mask, but my feelings boiled hot beneath its surface. As I stole a glance at the dark figure beside me, a serene presence in the frozen forest, one thought blazed across my mind like a shooting star on the horizon. Gods—I love him!

And it was true. Every fiber of my being loved him. In body, mind, heart, and soul, I was loyal to the point of death to Kylo Ren.

His gaze turned on me then, and I felt a spike of fear at the sudden spark in his eyes. His eyebrows drew together. "Caltrel, open your mind to me."

My eyelids fluttered in disbelief as I concocted some poor excuse in my mind, staring at my toes. I knew it was fruitless. Baring my thoughts, I began to recite the officer regulations code that all First Order officers knew by heart. Respect and obedience supersede personal persuasion. Loyalty and honor supersede dignity either personal or otherwise. Personal property—

A distant voice over the com link stole our attention, and the moment was broken. I blinked through hazy eyes as Ren retrieved my helmet. Before I could actually recover from my trance, Ren held out my helmet with the com button pressed.

It took a moment for my mind to register the words coming out of the contraption. "Corporal, come in."

"Y-Yes?" I winced at the tremor in my voice.

"I see your second checkpoint is thirty minutes late. Is everything alright?"

"Yes! I've just been … delayed by the weather," I lied.

"Very well," came the gruff reply, "Curtis out."

I took my helmet after the com closed and Ren reached for his as well. My embarrassment felt like a fire inside my bones, and I stared at the inside of my helmet for too long. Did Ren really hear…?

When his hand pitched my chin up to face him, I'm sure my face looked awestruck. He didn't hesitate when he closed the distance between us and sealed our lips together. Frozen, I stood helplessly as everything slowed down and sped up all at once. I felt my helmet slip from my grasp when his lips parted against mine, our breath mingling together.

He pulled away, and I half expected to wake up in some dark room. His tongue swiped across his lips and then he cleared his throat. "You should return to your patrol."

Patrol? I only moved when he pressed my helmet into my hand once more.

Placing his own helmet, he sealed the respirator and then gave me a businesslike nod. "I'll see you in a week."


	18. Change

C-18: Change

It felt like something had changed. The base was different, I was different, everything was different. I was a mess over the fact that he was gone. Though I had been grateful for being excluded from the mission before, I now felt left out and lonely. I wasn't myself.

Even though Vegas asked me to visit him during his confinement to quarters, I made excuses about being busy. I took extra patrols and observed even the most mundane interrogations. Ren consumed my thoughts by day and my dreams by night, moreso than ever before. When Phasma announced three days after he left that the recon team was returning early, I felt like I could breathe again.

That was also the day that Vegas returned to work. When I saw him in the hangar bay, waiting for Ren's return along with Phasma's entourage, I hugged him. His uniform was loose, his frame was narrower, but the color in his cheeks filled me with hope.

"I missed you!" I whispered as we parted, wary of Phasma's weighted gaze.

Vegas' smile was the biggest I'd ever seen. "Not as much as I missed you," he assured in a surprisingly serious tone. As we waited, we caught up on base ops and gossip in hushed tones. I felt guilty and stupid for not visiting him. What was I thinking?

Soon enough, the droning engine of the command shuttle filled the frigid hanger. Vegas took advantage of the loud noise to lean into my personal space and ask, "Is everything okay?"

The randomness of the question took me off guard. "Yeah," I nodded, catching the skepticism on his face.

"You seem off," he continued, the skepticism turning into concern.

I opened my mouth to retort but I realized that he was probably right. I am off.

Phasma then called for attention and our eyes snapped forward. When the ramp descended, I felt my heart start to patter. I wondered if Vegas could even hear it. As Hux exited, his eyes were on Vegas and me. I felt an avalanche of relief when I laid eyes on Ren. He's safe! I wondered if Vegas felt the same way about his return.

Captain Phasma was the first to salute when the general's boot hit the flight deck. Vegas and I followed suit, but my eyes were still on Ren.

"Welcome home," was Phasma's greeting, devoid of any welcome at all.

Hux spared a casual salute as he passed by, but Ren came to a stop before Vegas and me. I tried to contain a giddy smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Vegas smiling. "Welcome home, sir," he spoke for us.

"It's good to be back," Ren said, the mechanical filter all but suppressing the pleasant tone behind the words. "I'd like to debrief you both on this."

Vegas spoke again, "Of course, sir."

"Come by my quarters later tonight—both of you," he said, and we hastily acknowledged the order with a salute.

As Hux and Ren left to report to Leader Snoke, Vegas and I left for the mess hall. We hadn't shared a meal together in so long that I'd forgotten how to talk to him. At dinner, I noticed that he was avoiding the topic of Ren. Unspoken tension arose between us and I didn't know why.

By the time we stood in front of Ren's quarters, there was awkward silence between us. I almost felt relieved when the door slipped open and we stepped into the dim room. Ren's helmet was on as though he'd just returned, and he remained standing. I noticed the untouched meal on the table as my eyes swept across the room. Vegas and I stood at attention and the debrief began.

"Hux and I obtained information regarding the command structure of the Resistance leadership. Specifically, General Organa and her fleet."

The name was familiar to me—Leia Organa of Alderaan was written about extensively in the First Order's records. Her involvement with the destruction of the Empire's Deathstar and her subsequent rise in the Resistance was described in detail.

"More important than that—" Ren paused and I heard the gravity in his voice. "We have discovered the existence of a map that leads directly to Luke Skywalker."

Shock passed through Vegas and I, and we exchanged looks. "Luke Skywalker?" Vegas nearly shouted.

I remembered hearing the name on the lips of the first man that I killed. The son of Anakin Skywalker. In the First Order's records, Luke Skywalker was presumed to be the last Jedi.

"Yes," Ren affirmed eagerly, turning to face us. "We know who has it, but his whereabouts are unknown. We have some leads in the Western Reaches, which the Supreme Leader has assigned me to investigate."

The Western Reaches were thankfully closer than the Libra system, but still several hours by hyperspace. "What about the Resistance?" Vegas asked gently.

Ren folded his arms across his chest. "Vegas, this is the opportunity of a lifetime," he rebuked. "I will not let it slip away."

"Right, sir." Vegas nodded, but I still sensed his doubt.

"As such," Ren continued, "I've been stationed aboard a Resurgent-class Battlecruiser that moors in the Western Reaches. I will control a small fleet which will be an excellent vantage point for the investigation."

The surprise made my stomach churn. "You're leaving Starkiller?" I asked without thinking.

"We," Ren corrected. "I will select which officers and enlisted divisions accompany me, though the standing crew is up to standards."

Ren was truly Phasma's bane. I imagined how annoyed and relieved the captain would be by Ren's new assignment. The new change excited me.

"What about Hux?" Vegas asked.

"He will continue to oversee Starkiller Base as well as monitor the fleet's push against the Resistance. His duties remain the same."

Ren was no general, but he was assigned his own Battlecruiser. Though unheard of in the First Order, it made perfect sense. I felt a surge of pride in my master.

"This is extraordinary, Ren," Vegas said, stepping forward with a broad smile. "Free of Phasma … what a brilliant thought."

Ren laughed and I could practically feel the smile beneath his helmet. "My feelings exactly, Vegas. Our operations will run much smoother on the Finalizer."

I couldn't contain my own smile. This is the change that I needed to feel myself again. The thought of returning to life in space was more than exciting. "When?" I heard myself ask.

"Within the week," Ren said, absently turning his head. "I don't see why we cannot begin preparations immediately. There's no need for you to report to Phasma—talk to Hux for your orders."

I once again sensed the clash of authority, and respectfully nodded. I was saddened by the distance that the recon team created between the captain and me, but I saw it as necessary to serving Ren. My respect for Phasma remained, however.

"Right, then, sir." Vegas saluted and Ren returned the gesture.

"You're dismissed, Sergeant. Corporal, I need a word with you." Ren's gaze turned to me and I felt a jolt in my stomach.

"Sir," I acknowledged, maintaining my stance. As Vegas left, I caught sight of the look on his face and I suddenly understood why we were on bad terms. Jealously? The door swooshed closed behind him and I turned back as Ren was placing his helmet on its pedestal.

"Have a seat, Caltrel," Ren said in an almost tired tone. I sensed that he was more relaxed when we were alone together, and the thought thrilled and unnerved me at the same time. Vegas was an old friend, but the two were still formal with each other.

After I sat down on one of the familiar couches, Ren sat beside me. His relaxed posture was a sharp contrast to my tense perch on the edge of my seat. I tried to relax as I said, "What can I do, sir?"

"I wanted to warn you of two things," Ren said, voice raw. "First, Phasma will especially target you since you're transferring so soon. She doesn't like that."

I nodded, already regretting the inevitable confrontation. My eyes fell to my hands clasped knuckle-white in my lap, and I relaxed them. Ren reached over, unclenching my fist for me and taking one in his gloved hand. My cheeks flushed as I looked up at him; he was smiling.

"Have confidence," he chided. "The captain will respect my authority. You do not stand alone."

Relaxing my weight against his shoulder, I nodded again, feeling much more comfortable than before. If I leaned forward just a little, I could rest my head on his chest like I did once before in a dream. Being so close to such a powerful being was exhilarating. I felt like the luckiest woman in the First Order.

"Thank you," I said, smiling.

"It's nothing."

I watched his lips move when he spoke, and my mind went back to the day in the forest. Confusion swirled up within me as I thought of the moment in a way I hadn't imagined before. Could Ren feel for me even a portion of what I felt for him? I pictured myself as nothing more than a toy Stormtrooper to him. Perhaps a shiny one.

"Lucia," came the whispered rebuke, along with a gentle hand at my jawline. "I sense your questions. Ask them."

I immediately felt tears well up and blinked them away as best I could. The unexplainable compassion I felt from the man that many feared as a monster filled my heart with an indescribable love. I felt my lips tremble when I parted them to speak.

"Why did you choose me?" I rasped beneath a whisper. I barely contained my emotions. "Why me?"

A frown marred Ren's pensive face. "Choose you?" he repeated quietly, and I saw that there was no answer. He placed the tips of his fingers against my temple like he had before, and I felt him enter my mind.

In a heartbeat, I felt the invisible wall shielding his thoughts from my reach crumble. A torrent of sordid thoughts entered my mind, murderous and sinister. Hatred for a father, scorn for a mother, and unmatchable bitterness soiled every corner of my mind, stealing the breath from my lungs.

"Ren!" I gasped out, clenching his forearm like a vice. Practically blind and deaf, I could barely keep myself together for the chaos in my head.

"I'm sorry," said a voice not so far away. I felt all the violence being pushed aside, replaced with shadows of feelings.

One by one, I felt his feelings for me. During my interrogation, the curiosity. The surprise he felt at my forfeit and allegiance to the First Order. When I took my first kill under his command, the pride. The fear when I was in danger at the Resistance stronghold. The loneliness he felt while on the mission with Hux. And now, the urge to protect, to hold—

Overwhelmed, I pulled myself away, barely managing to bring myself back to reality. I found myself with his hand clutched tightly in both of mine, resting between us. Looking up, I realized he was watching me intently. "I understand but … I can't bear this," I explained quietly.

He seemed to understand, but the dark look behind his eyes remained. I felt a swell of sympathy for the human being of Kylo Ren, an outcast son, an unloved pupil. The glimpses I saw of his mind were grown from a life of suffering and darkness. "Don't pity me," he said suddenly.

I shook my head guiltily, and then jumped at the chirp of the door signal. The moment was broken. Ren frowned angrily before turning his head to shout, "Go away!"

A pause preceded the muffled statement, "It's Hux."

Ren's jaw set as he deliberated. Extracting his hand, he paced to the door by way of his helmet and undid the lock. Hux's pale eyes swept the room when the door opened and inevitably fell on me. "What is it?" Ren snapped in his metallic voice, obviously impatient.

"I need to speak with you about the Finalizer," Hux replied briskly. "Some operational things." Another sweep of his eyes pinned me under a judgmental gaze. I adjusted my uniform uncomfortably, wondering what it must look like for a female officer to be sitting on Ren's sofa.

"Right…," Ren replied, stepping aside to allow him to enter. I stood immediately, intending to make a quick exit. Ren kept the door from closing, silently approving my dismissal. "We'll speak again, Caltrel."

I nodded sheepishly as I made my way out. The smirk on Hux's face made my face burn as I passed by him. He knows I'm fraternizing!

I caught the beginning of Hux's conversation before the door closed behind me. "As you know, the crew of the Finalizer includes 19,000 officers, 55,000 enlisted, and a battalion of Stormtroopers—"

My feet took me to my quarters out of habit, but the ordinary space felt surreal. My wildest dreams of being close to Ren were coming true. He felt more for me than I'd ever thought was possible, and I loved him all the more for it. I loved every part of him, even the parts that frightened me. I never thought I would feel so strongly for someone in all my life.

My back hit the bedsheets and my head finally stopped spinning. As I turned the conversation over and over again in my mind, I realized I never heard the second thing that he wanted to warn me about.


	19. Paramour

C-19: Paramour

"Caltrel, we need to talk."

Vegas' hand pinned the speed lift doors open, surprising myself and the other Stormtrooper that stood inside. He muttered a quick apology as he entered, folding his hands in front of him as if he were innocent. I almost smiled.

"I'm going to Phasma's division right now," I told him. "She's not in her office."

"She will be later," he said, pressing the button for the training level. The Stormtrooper shot us a faceless look when the lift opened at my intended stop, and I let out a patient sigh as the doors closed again. His white shoulder guard indicated that he was a battalion commander, exceeding our ranks.

When we stepped off on the training level, Vegas took my hand and pulled me away from the mass of students at the shooting range.

"Vegas—" I sighed in frustration, tugging at my hand.

"Over here," Vegas said, leading us to a large storage room off the main area. He ignored the protocol droid shuffling about the massive storage containers.

"There are better places to talk," I pointed out, taking a seat on the case of blasters that he led me to. He sat on the shorter case of ammunition and looked up at me like a child lost in a marketplace.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyebrows drawn up. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I just want things between us to be like they used to. Before this," he said, placing a hand on his abdomen.

The scripted tone implied that he'd given this moment some thought. I had thought about it, too. "I know, Vegas … I want things to be normal, too." I shook my head at a loss for a solution. "I don't know what's wrong."

Leaning forward, Vegas took one of my hands gently and held it in between us. "Caltrel, you mean so much to me," he said, and the solemnness in his voice disarmed me. He seemed close to tears, an emotional display that I'd never seen from Vegas before. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," I said almost robotically. "We'll both be on the Finalizer."

Vegas shook his head. "That's not what I'm worried about. Listen—" He paused to lean just a bit closer. "I know about you and Ren."

"Vegas!" I gasped. My head whipped right and left to find that we were now thankfully alone. I squeezed his hands too tight, but he only laughed. "What do you mean?" I hedged crossly.

"I mean I know you're in love with him," he said emphatically, not bothering to whisper. He gave me a look that told me not to argue. "And I know that you're sharing quarters on the ship."

"Sharing…?" I was shocked. "Who told you that?"

Vegas seemed surprised by my reaction. "I read it on the manifest that Hux sent us."

My mind raced with possibilities both wonderful and terrible. "There must be some mistake …" I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead in an attempt to clear my head, but my pounding pulse made it difficult.

"He didn't tell you?" Vegas asked, confused.

"No …" I almost felt sick. Is this what being in love is like?

Vegas shook his head in disbelief. He was watching me closely, and I knew he could see my turmoil. "I'm worried about you," he simply said.

That struck a chord in me that had been a recurring theme lately. If Vegas was worried about me, should I be worried about myself? "Sorry—I don't want you to worry," I said, trailing off at the end.

"Don't be sorry," Vegas said, finally releasing my hands after an emphatic squeeze. "Just rely on me when you need to. Talk to me."

I couldn't ask for a better friend. His words lifted a weight from my shoulders that I hadn't realized was there. I tried my best to smile, and Vegas responded with a surprised grin. "Thank you, Vegas."

He nodded. "Anytime. Really."

"Listen—all this stuff with Ren …" I took a deep breath, arranging my thoughts into words. His intent blue gaze wasn't helping. "It's confusing," I said lamely, "and I just don't feel myself. But I think, in the end, it will all work out." I smiled to prove my point.

Vegas didn't seem convinced, and he let out a terse sigh. "Alright, whatever you say."

On perfect timing, my com signaled an incoming transmission with a flashing green light. Vegas rolled his eyes dramatically as I lifted my wrist to answer it. "Caltrel here."

"Corporal, I was told that you came by my office." Phasma. Vegas and I exchanged a deadpan look. "I've returned if you'd like to speak with me."

Vegas held my gaze as I responded. "Yes, I'll be there in five. Thank you, Captain."

"Very well. Phasma out."

Vegas wore a look of mock surprise. "Sounds like she's in a good mood."

I had to agree—the captain wasn't usually so friendly around 0700. "I hope that's a good sign," I said, rising to my feet.

"Why does she want to see you?" he asked as we left the storage room.

"I asked to see her, actually," I said to Vegas' surprise.

"You're joking," he laughed. "Why?"

I mulled over my answer since I hadn't expected to explain myself to anyone. "When I first came to the First Order, she was like an idol to me. I wanted to be just like her." As we passed by the students again, some of them watched us. I was glad I put on my officer cap that morning.

Vegas wore a patient smile as he pressed the button for the lift. "So, you don't want to leave on a bad note," he finished.

I shrugged. "More or less."

The lift opened almost right away and Vegas pressed the buttons for Level 20 and 1. At my questioning look, he said, "Visiting a pilot friend." I didn't dwell on it.

Saying goodbye, I exited the lift and made my way down the familiar corridor of intimidating offices. The thought that this could be my last time making the solemn walk both excited me and scared me. True to her word, the silver-armored Stormtrooper sat at her desk, elbow deep in reports.

"Come in," she snapped as I opened my mouth to make my presence known. I stepped through the doorway and found a seat at one of the familiar chairs before her desk. Setting her datapad aside, she knit her fingers atop the desk and fixed her masked eyes on me. "I can't imagine why you're here," she said dryly.

To my surprise, I wasn't nervous at all. Ren had told me that his authority regarding my transfer wouldn't be questioned. I felt as though the meeting was more on my terms than anything. I smiled at her sarcasm. "I wouldn't think so."

She sat back, already bored with the conversation. "Hux spoke with me about this, so there's nothing really to explain. I fear that the General is placing the will of Supreme Leader above the will of the First Order …," she trailed off, leveling her gaze on me.

The odd statement took me off guard. "Are they not one and the same?" I asked.

Phasma released an exacerbated sigh. "Finding Luke Skywalker is tactically irrelevant," she explained tiredly. "Time will tell, I suppose."

"Indeed," I agreed. I hadn't spared the mission much thought in that respect. Was Luke Skywalker connected to the Resistance or the New Republic for that matter?

"Although, Ren is a child that I'm glad to be free of." I felt her watching my reaction. "Does that offend you?"

I shook my head. "Not really." I pursed my lips in careful thought. "I understand why you feel that way, actually."

Her surprise was perfectly hidden, if it was even there. A pause followed during which she placed her hands on her desk again. "You were always bright. I regret losing you to Ren, Caltrel."

Surprise struck me speechless. Has Phasma ever called me by my given name? "Thank you, ma'am," I fumbled. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you."

Phasma shrugged. "I can see you are loyal to Ren first and the Order second. He did save your life, didn't he?"

"He did," I agreed. I was beginning to understand her point of view. "Even so—you were the one that inspired me to become a great officer in the First Order. I'm grateful for your faith in me." I smiled, hoping that somehow she saw my sincerity.

Phasma nodded generously. "You've changed a great deal since I first met you, ST-3138." She paused at the long-forgotten designation. "I'm glad my faith was not misplaced."

To say I was in high spirits for the rest of the day was an understatement. The command shuttle's departure for the Finalizer was scheduled for the following day, Vegas was talking to me again, and things were settled with Phasma. As I packed what few belongings I wished to take, I decided I had quite a few things to look forward to. However, almost like a looming cloud, Vegas' mention of sharing quarters with Ren hung over me. I wouldn't have imagined it in a hundred years. A thousand years.

I was a bit disappointed that Vegas wasn't in the training room at his usual time, and my motivation was low. In the evening, I laid on my bed and read over the set of orders that I'd received from Hux via droid. The datapad on which it was stored was nicer than any of mine, so I decided to keep it. Phrases like "Lord Ren's discretion" and "by the order of Supreme Leader Snoke" were scattered throughout. I made a mental note to compare my orders to Vegas' in the morning.

After a restless night of sleep, I awoke early and double checked my things. I decided to wear my armor and pack my uniform, along with a few light articles of clothing and some datapads. Halfway through the process of suiting up, my door signal went off. I assumed it was a droid.

"Vegas," I chirped in surprise.

"Hey." He smiled a knowing smile at my reaction, holding his Stormtrooper helmet under one arm and a duffle bag on the other. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," I breathed, gesturing inside. I couldn't remember the last time Vegas had visited my quarters. "I just finished packing."

"Me, too," he said, setting his things down on the bed. "We can go up together." He wordlessly handed me the next piece of my armor from the bed, and then the next.

"I can dress myself, Vegas," I chuckled, playing along anyway.

"I know," he assured, "but isn't this funner?"

One meaningless conversation about droids programed as butlers later, we were heading up to the flight deck. The command shuttle was docked in its usual hangar, and the pilot informed us as we boarded that Ren was already aboard. He also told us that the journey would take several hours.

Vegas and I parted ways once we reached the officer's deck, and I suddenly felt the pressing need to speak with Ren. Nervous energy filled me as I changed into my uniform. Somehow I would need to bring up the topic of sharing quarters without mentioning Vegas.

As I raised my hand to press the door signal at Ren's quarters, I was met with a resounding "Come in." The door wasn't even locked, and I had to remind myself that Vegas and I were the only officers aboard.

"Hello, sir." I stepped inside to find him kneeling on a mat off to the side of the room. Judging by his light clothing, he could have been doing some kind of exercise or meditation. "Do you have a moment?"

His expression was as difficult to read as ever. Standing with unexpected grace, he motioned to the armchairs by the viewport. "Of course. I've been meaning to speak with you," he said, relieving some of my worry.

"Good," I said, smiling as I took a seat. I opened my mouth to recite my rehearsed introduction, but he spoke before I did.

"I meant to tell you this several days ago, actually," he said. He paused suddenly, and I'm sure I had the guiltiest expression on my face. "But I see that Vegas already told you," he finished dryly.

I swallowed as the color drained from my face. Was I that easy to read even without his powers? "I—he did," I floundered, managing to keep my composure. "I'm just … very surprised."

Ren's expression turned a bit wry. "Why?" he pressed.

I wasn't prepared for the question. "It just seems a bit sudden," I explained. "A bit drastic."

"Lucia," he said, leaning forward. I was beginning to get accustomed to him using my name. "I have felt a connection with you that I have felt with few others." His eyes scanned my face carefully. "Allow me this."

The reason didn't convince me, and I felt myself starting to panic. "I still don't understand," I admitted. "The fraternization boundaries set by the First Order—" I stopped when Ren began to chuckle.

"I am not the First Order," he said. "Hux knows as well. I've instructed him to not interfere."

I began to grasp the personal nature of the situation, but my brain still resisted the drastic idea. Isn't this wrong? Another part of my mind reminded me that I had already fraternized substantially. "Am I not still an officer of the First Order?"

Ren seemed to exercise a moment of patience. "You are a fine officer."

"Then—"

"Lucia." Leaving his seat, Ren stooped to eye level before me and held the arms of my chair. His steady brown gaze pinned me to my seat. "You will be my lover on the Finalizer. You will allow me this."

I suddenly felt like an idiot for arguing. How could I ever think to oppose him? "I'll allow you this," I agreed. "I will be your lover."

The smile on his face was contagious. "Good," he said, sinking to his knees and moving his hands to my legs. "As we begin the search for the map, I want to have you and Vegas by my side as much as possible. There are many generals on the Finalizer whom I do not trust."

I nodded down at him, humbled again by the faith he placed in me. "I won't let you down," I assured.

His hand ghosted its way up my body to rest at my jawline. Shivers followed the trail of his touch, chilling me. "I know," he said. Leaning up on his knees, he lightly kissed the hollow of my neck and then my cheek.

I trembled under his touch, trying my best to stay still. Sparks of desire ignited my nerves, screwing my eyes shut unconsciously. Is this what is to come?

"You're tired," he remarked, a whisper in my ear. "Get some rest."

I stood on shaky legs, thanking him as I made a speedy exit. My head kept spinning even after I left the room. Ren's lover? The idea was absurd at first, but had suddenly become rather simple. Ren desired it. So I desired it, too.


	20. Ache

C-20: Ache

I watched through the window in the common area as we approached the Finalizer. The massive ship was even larger than my homeship in the old fleet. The light of a nearby star cast ominous shadows across its white surface as TIE Fighters practiced maneuvers off the starboard docks. We rounded the port side and docked in one of the massive hangars that mimicked the design of Starkiller.

Once the ramp lowered, Vegas and I waited at the top to escort Ren off the command shuttle. My body practically ached from nerves, but Vegas seemed perfectly fine. "That's one hell of a welcoming party," he muttered, tipping his head toward the end of the ramp.

I cocked my head to see at least four units of Stormtroopers and ten senior officers. "Whoa," I said under my breath.

Ren arrived not soon after and motioned for us to fall into line. We followed at a quick pace as we descended the ramp. As soon as Ren came into view, salutes went up from every corner of the hangar. The Stormtroopers formed orderly units to the right and left with a path in between.

"Lord Ren," said one of the older generals as we approached, "we welcome you to our glorious flagship. I am Lieutenant-General Septus Graves."

"Thank you," Ren replied. "General Hux speaks highly of you." The old man smiled before Ren continued to say, "I expect you to live up to your reputation."

The general seemed taken off guard, but recovered well. "Of course, sir. We will exceed your expectations."

The tour of the main command centers took nearly two hours. The flight control center, main battery, Stormtrooper divisions, officer's quarters, and the bridge were the highlights. We ended on the bridge—sleek and impressive with sunken control stations and a very large viewport. The dark design of the ship gave it a sinister atmosphere, moreso than Starkiller. Standing on the polished floors almost felt like luxury.

"Very impressive," Ren said as he glanced around the bridge. Con officers seemed especially focused on their controls, and no one was a step out of place. "And now, the holocom chamber."

"Of course, Lord Ren." The general dismissed his officers and led us from the bridge via speed lift. I glanced in Vegas' direction while we boarded the lift, restless from remaining silent for the past several hours. He didn't notice.

"My lord, as a reminder, bodyguards are available to be assigned to you at any time," the general informed tactfully.

"That won't be necessary, Lieutenant-General," Ren replied. "These officers are my bodyguards—Sergeant Vegas and Corporal Caltrel." He gestured to each of us respectively, and we nodded, faceless statues.

Graves smiled to us in reply, a nervous hand at his collar.

The communication chamber was not as massive as the one on Starkiller, but the center holoprojector was larger than the others. Lieutenant-General Graves bid us farewell after uploading several com frequencies to our personal communicators. Immediately after he left, Ren stepped toward the holoprojector and keyed in a frequency. Vegas and I stood by the door, mostly hidden by shadows. Within moments, the Supreme Leader appeared in hues of celestial blue.

"Kylo Ren," the ethereal voice greeted. "I see you've arrived safely aboard the flagship."

"Yes, Supreme Leader," Ren said, sliding to one knee. His voice reverberated against the slanted walls of the chamber. "I am ready for your task."

"Very well." I watched Snoke's face as he spoke to Ren. He looked much older than the First Order's records indicated; however, I knew he was as wise as they claimed. His voice was aged and wistful. "I have foreseen that you will once again meet your old acquaintance Lor San Tekka."

Ren looked away in thought, hands curling into fists. "Tekka …"

"Yes—he will be eager and fearful to see you." The Leader's head rested casually in his hand. "His location is clouded in my visions, however."

"Could he have the map to Skywalker, Master?" Ren asked.

"Perhaps," Snoke intoned. "Seek him, and the way forward will become clearer."

"I will, Supreme Leader."

"Also—" A pause followed as the Leader leaned forward in his seat. "There's no need for such discretion in this system, Ren. It is time for the First Order to make its presence known. True fear has not yet taken root in this part of the galaxy."

"Yes, my Master." Ren rose to his feet and bowed respectfully before the holoprojector flickered off. Lifting his wrist, he keyed in a frequency on his communicator. "Lieutenant-General Graves, please order a system-wide search for one 'Lor San Tekka' and have the results delivered to my quarters."

"Yes, Lord Ren," came the reply without hesitation.

Ren motioned for us to follow as he exited the chamber, and Vegas and I fell in behind him. Finally, we felt at ease to speak. "Getting off to a running start, sir," Vegas commented.

"Of course, Sergeant," Ren replied lightly.

"The ship is breathtaking," I said, noticing the elegantly color coded hallways.

"Indeed. I'm very pleased." We entered the closest speed lift and Ren pushed the level for officer's quarters.

"Level 2 for quarters, I should remember that," Vegas chuckled. His helmet cocked toward me and I could only imagine his crooked smile.

At the mention of quarters, I felt the knot in my stomach turn into a stone. I tried not to imagine the worst case scenario of a single changing room, a single shower, a single bed …

When the lift doors opened with a new, sharp swoosh, I gave an edgy jolt. Vegas noticed with a turn of his head, but remained silent. We trailed behind as Vegas looked at the names on the doors, since his room wasn't part of the tour. He found it soon enough and bid us goodnight.

I felt a shift in mood immediately once we were alone. My nerves got the better of me as I wordlessly followed Ren into his quarters. Everything was black—from the flooring to the walls to the furnishings. I walked over to my duffle bag just to touch a familiar object. Two untouched dinner plates sat on the small table in the next room, and I wondered if droids had delivered them. It was long past dinnertime.

"I know you're confused," Ren said, a softness behind the growl of his helmet. I heard the hiss of decompression as he took it off, and so my helmet followed. "Some ground rules are in order."

Not bothering to hide my surprise, I turned to face him. "Ground rules?"

His expression appeared completely serious. "Yes, to separate your role out there"—he pointed to the door—"from in here."

I openly gawked at what I was being asked to do. How was it that I agreed to be his chamber mistress in the first place? My mind raced and my heart kept pace. I followed him into the bedroom but remained standing while he sat on the edge of the bed.

"First of all, while we are in these quarters, you will address me as 'Kylo.' Is that understood?"

Easy enough. I nodded.

He was watching my reactions closely, but his posture was relaxed. "Next, you will bathe before you sleep and when you wake. Understood?"

"Yes," I said, throat tightening at the thought.

"You will also be free to discuss your thoughts, but you may never defy me," he said, a spark behind his eyes.

"That's true in any case, sir," I commented. He gave me a lingering look, and I quickly corrected, "Kylo." Saying the name to his face felt a bit forbidden.

A small smirk ghosted his face. "Remove your armor, and then come here," he said.

I used the cushioned bench at the end of the bed to undo all the straps and buckles that held my armor in place. My face felt completely drained of blood as I solemnly went through the familiar motions. The First Order has asked worse things of me than to lie with a man, I reminded myself. One could even consider this tame in comparison. After stripping down to my light clothes, I avoided eye contact as I sat beside him, heart hammering in my chest.

Unsurprisingly, his gloved hand was cool against my cheek. He dragged my eyes toward his with a guiding hand. I felt a spike of fear in my stomach at the intensity of his gaze. "I'm not going to rape you," he told me. The chill in his voice sent tremors through me, and I flinched out of his grasp.

"I—I know," I stammered, completely lost inside myself. My hands shook, so I made them into fists.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked.

I gaped at the question. "Wh—Why did you ask this of me?" I gasped, feeling my emotions take control. "What do you want from me?"

Ren had an almost patronizing smile on his face. "You could argue that I want from you what you want from me," he said. "Your heart … your soul."

His innocence, his honesty—were they real? I believed him. "You already have me," I admitted in a whisper.

"I know," he said, resolved. "But now, I will not lose you."

How could he possibly lose me? I was an officer under his command, bound to follow his orders. I didn't understand. When he reached for me, I stood up. "I can't—" I choked.

Disappointment washed over his face, and when I took a step backwards, he lunged to grip my arm. Pain amplified my fear, pulling a sharp sound from my throat. "Lucia," he growled, touching my temples like he did when he read my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced my mind.

When the silence stretched too long, I cracked an eye to see the conflict on Ren's face. He still held onto me with one hand, our tense bodies close. Like in arguments past, he struggled between anger and patience.

"Shower," he suddenly snapped, releasing me. He turned toward the bed, and I sensed his barely contained rage. "I'll be asleep by the time you're finished."

As I made my retreat to the refresher, I didn't pay much mind to coded door that Ren accessed. The fresher was nicer than I was used to, but I didn't dwell on the details. Hot water numbed me enough that I didn't actually grasp any of the thoughts slipping through my head.

The room was dark when I peeked out, wearing nothing but a towel. Light from the fresher revealed a figure sleeping in the bed as promised. My heart thumped as I snuck to my bag for a change of clothes. Clean and dressed, I shut off the fresher light and crawled into bed. I practically laid on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing the unfamiliar ceiling for some kind of comforting pattern.

After several mindless minutes, I heard Ren shift in his sleep. I saw the faint outline of his arm in the gaping space between us. Sparing little thought, I slid my hand underneath the sheets and laced my fingers with his. His hand tightened briefly around mine, and I felt my heart ache.

I've fallen in love with the wrong man.


	21. Fear

C-21: Fear

I awoke to the sound of running water the following morning. Sitting up, I gripped foreign bedsheets as I tried to orient myself. The Finalizer. I looked to the refresher door, which Ren had left ajar, wondering if it was on purpose.

Not feeling brave enough to venture the room, I laid back down and placed a hand on my forehead. The situation seemed surreal. I found myself preferring even the hardest of beds over Kylo Ren's. On that thought, I pushed myself out of bed and padded to my bag to find a jacket. The entry room, reminiscent of Ren's sitting room on the command shuttle, felt like a sanctuary compared to the bedroom.

I touched the soft leather of one of the couches until my eyes fell on a datapad sitting carelessly on the cushions. A starchart was open, revolving around a certain planet in the Western Reaches. The surface landscape reminded me of Naboo, but the name was unfamiliar.

"Our first mission."

Spinning at Ren's voice in the doorway, I locked eyes with him guiltily. I didn't even hear the water shut off! "T—Today?" I asked, purposely ignoring his exposed chest.

"With luck, yes," he said, releasing the door frame. I noticed the towel wrapped around his hips before he vanished into the bedroom. Suddenly my mouth felt very dry. As I stared at my feet, my conscience reminded me that I'd failed to brush my teeth the previous night. With a reluctant sigh, I gathered some toiletries from my bag and forged back to the bedroom.

Ren sat on the bench, pants thankfully on, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. I summoned the courage to say, "I'm showering now," and only flushed slightly with he gave me an amused nod. There was certainly less tension between us than the night before.

I felt sweat trickle down my temple beneath my helmet as we rode the lift to the bridge, and I regretted taking such a warm shower. Vegas stood beside me wordlessly, and I desperately wished I could put to rest some suspicions that he no doubt had. I wanted to ask how his quarters were, but it seemed out of place.

Lieutenant-General Graves welcomed Ren to the bridge with an almost eerie cheer. To his disappointment, Ren didn't seem too impressed. "Did you receive my transmission last night, Lieutenant-General?"

"Yes, Lord Ren," Graves said, eyes sliding right and left to Vegas and me. "I ordered the shuttle be prepared immediately."

"And why is it not prepared?" Ren pressed, looming over the flustered general.

"Unfortunately," Graves enunciated, "a delicate shipment of plasma compressors has delayed the launch until this evening."

The ominous pause that followed put everyone on edge. Ren took an emphatic step toward the general, forcing the shorter man to turn up his chin uncomfortably. "And why is my shuttle not prepared?" Ren asked again, tone as cold as ice.

Graves opened his mouth to reply and then shut it. Taking an obvious step away from Ren, he raised his hand to speak into his communicator. "Prepare Lord Ren's command shuttle immediately," he said unevenly. "Override precautions."

"Thank you, Lieutenant-General," Ren said pleasantly, turning around the way we came. Vegas and I exchanged a glance as we descended several decks to the portside hangar bays.

Half of the hangar was sealed off with yellow lights flashing the quarantine symbol. I didn't have the engineering knowledge to gauge how much danger the compressors actually were in the presence of a live engine. As we approached the command shuttle, I noticed several units of Stormtroopers boarding ahead of us. When Ren passed by the commanding officer at the bottom of the ramp, he said, "Prepare for a brief in the common area."

The pilots signaled take off just as the brief began. Six unit leaders and the commanding officer were in attendance, making me wonder just how much resistance was expected on this mission.

"Congratulations," Ren began. "You are part of the first insurgence into the Western Reaches. The First Order is little more than rumor in this sector, and our intent is to clear any confusion that the inhabitants may have. Though the objective of this mission is classified, our intent is not: the First Order is a force to fear and respect."

The last line sounded similar to Hux's speech back on Starkiller. It seemed to have the same effect as the officers exchanged approving nods.

Ren continued. "You all have read the mission brief. Our landing zone is a small colony mostly populated by humans. Your units will assault the colony without discrimination while my officers and I locate the objective. I grant you permission to give no quarter."

Surprise rippled throughout the room, and Vegas nudged my arm. I ignored him. This is no longer the reconnaissance team. Delayed replies of "Yes, sir!" and salutes came in response. After taking a question on formation tactics, Ren dismissed the officers. Our ETA was within minutes. I stayed in the common area and kept my eyes focused on Vegas so he would notice.

When we had the room to ourselves, he walked over to me. "Are you alright?" he asked.

The simple question stirred the emotions that I had tossed aside the previous night. "I'm … okay."

"This could be bloody," Vegas murmured. The orange light of our entrance into the planet's atmosphere flickered off Vegas' polished visor as he gazed out the window. "This will be bloody."

Vegas seemed to have his mind more focused on the mission than I had. However, he quickly noticed my silence. "Cal—" Unprovoked, I leaned forward and put my arms around him. Our armor clunked together awkwardly, and he gave a sound of protest before carefully returning my embrace.

"You're not alright."

My thoughts were settling, regret already starting to take root. "I am for now," I sighed beneath my helmet.

"Damn it," Vegas cursed. "You make me worry too much." Yielding to common sense, I loosed my arms to step back, but Vegas held fast. "Ren's not a bastard, Caltrel. If you play along, you can at least be happy," he insisted.

"Happy?" I repeated. I mulled over the word for a moment until the reality of the mission poured over me like cold water. At my urging, Vegas released me. "We need to go," I croaked, clearing my throat.

Vegas was immediately sober. "Right."

The Stormtrooper commander was already at the exit chamber, and informed us that the units had already been deployed in transports as planned. With a weighted glance, he added, "Expect organized chaos on landing."

Vegas was already reaching for his blaster rifle. "Or chaotic chaos."

Ren completed the gathering with nothing more than a lightsaber. His hood was pulled up, accenting the menacing and dark presence of the Force wielder. Over the ship's com, the pilot signaled that we were moments from engagement. Nonetheless, I struggled to keep my mind on the task at hand. My priority was to guard Ren's flank and follow orders—nothing I hadn't handled before. Focus, Lucy, focus!

The lurch of our landing forced me to grab one of the handrails near the ramp as it began its descent. Blaster fire immediately reached our ears. Hues of red light dashed across the blue sky, and I squinted as the full picture gradually came into view.

Keeping stride with Ren, Vegas and I scanned the battlefield as we left the ramp. Stormtroopers pushed the perimeter of the town, taking cover from a turret of green laser fire from a rooftop. Trees and shrubs provided excellent cover. Some villagers engaged with handguns or simple staffs, which were easily picked off by the Troopers. The commander dashed off to his officers, and Ren veered around the left flank of the battle.

"She's here," Ren growled as he stalked past the battle, "but I don't sense him."

With a burst of wild energy, Ren's saber came to life to deflect a stray bolt from a rifle. Tracing the path with my eyes, I leveled my blaster on the villager and took the shot. The second attempt made impact.

Frightened humans dashed into their homes as Ren stormed through the town, rustic and primitive. His movements were jerky and rushed. As the sounds of battle faded, I found myself relieved that some humans had the sense to flee. Everyone should flee the First Order.

A particular hut became Ren's target. Rather than forcing the door, he swung several diagonal slashes with his saber. Kicking aside the smoldering rubble, he stormed into the house. Immediately, the shriek of a woman's voice could be heard from the rear of the house. Ren was drawn to it like a predator. Upon reaching the back room, I saw a young twi'lek girl cowering beside an old woman who was slumping against a bed. The terrified girl seemed to be an assistant of some kind.

"Kill the twi'lek," Ren ordered, and I immediately balked, seeing myself in her. Vegas took the shot instead, looking away in disgust. The old woman screamed as her companion's body tumbled to the floor.

Ren's voice took on a condescending quality, filled with hatred. "It's been too long, old woman. You know who I've come for."

The woman's gray eyes were fixed on Kylo Ren, and an eerie calm had settled over her in a matter of seconds. It reminded me of Ren's previous victims. "I can't believe you've done this, Ben!" she shouted in devastation.

Ren's lightsaber seemed to shine brighter in the sunlit room as he extended the blade. "Tell me where he is or I will take it by force," he threatened. "Where is he? Where is Tekka?"

"My husband is dead!" the woman yelled, attempting to get to her feet. She was old and weak. "My husband is dead," she repeated hopelessly.

"Impossible," Ren hissed, reaching out his hand. The woman cried as he invaded her mind, tears streaming down her cheeks. I found it difficult to watch, so I looked away. A bowl of soup sat half eaten on a table.

Then, the encounter was over as soon as it began. Ren crouched to the woman's level as she attempted to scramble away, fear overcoming her face. He murmured, "I show you the same kind of mercy that your family showed me." The crackle of molten flush made me wince as he pushed his saber into her abdomen.

Smoke rose from the now quiet battleground as Stormtroopers reloaded their transports. Unit leaders made their reports to the commander. The bodies of the resistors were scattered about, and I purposely didn't look at their faces. These were not Resistance agents; these were civilians. When the commander caught sight of Ren approaching, he intercepted.

"Sir, five casualties; one fatality," the commander said proudly, saluting.

"Very well. We depart immediately."

On the flight back to the Finalizer, I put as much mental distance from the mission as I could. My jaw ached from the tension I held there. Every time I redirected my thoughts, they circled back around to one singular question: Did our actions lack purpose?

The unit leaders exchanged stories in hushed voices in the common area. Their glances in my direction didn't go unnoticed. Vegas silently entered and sat by the window, helmet off, frown in place. I sat by him, too afraid of what I might show if I took my own helmet off. The silent companionship comforted me.

"That's no First Order I know," Vegas said under his breath. It was a message for me alone, confirming my doubts. It left a hollow burn inside my chest.

Docking, debriefing, and scrubbing off in the decontamination room was all robotic to me. The sanitation crew of the Finalizer was meticulous about decontamination, and I couldn't help but wonder if our mission reports from the Libra system had anything to do with it. Since the team had scattered, I ate a portion in the mess by myself.

Standing in front of Ren's quarters—Kylo's quarters, I corrected—felt bizarre. The biometric keycard on my communicator pinged the door, and I watched the green light flash several times before entering. I didn't have to look far—Kylo was using the pullup bar mounted in the corner of the entry room, grunting with each pull. Sweat streaked his bare back, and I immediately felt guilty for staring.

Though working out would probably relieve some tension, I didn't have the energy. Deciding that the gray, baggy outfit that decon gave me would suffice as bedclothes, I laid down on my side of the bed. As I listened to Ren's—Kylo's—muffled sounds from the other room, I thought how domestic he seemed compared to several hours ago. Like he's a totally different person.

I pretended to be asleep when I heard him enter the bedroom, but I jolted in surprise when he sat next to me. As I made eye contact with him, I felt as though my face was carved from stone. He had a white towel around his neck, and his face was flushed from exertion. Gravity pulled my body against his leg.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" he asked, face devoid.

Subconsciously, my mind flashed with images from the mission. "No."

Leaning down, he grasped both my cheeks with slight pressure, hand making a "v." The odd gesture made me feel vulnerable. "I sense your doubt," he accused.

My craving for a gentler hand almost brought me to tears. "You're no monster to me," I said, voice shaking.

His eyes searched mine, and I felt him slip into my mind. I closed my eyes, baring thoughts that I knew he was bound to find. Before I could open them, he kissed me. The kiss was soft at first, growing in passion until his tongue sought entrance. His arms slipped underneath me to lift me further onto the bed, keeping contact all the while.

As his body hovered over me, my blood began to boil. My hands reached for the back of his head out of instinct, finding thick curls of hair. Sighs passed between our mouths as the kiss deepened. His hands slipped under my shirt to grip my waist, thumbs rubbing electrifying circles into my flesh. I squirmed when I felt his knee press into me.

"Kylo," I gasped out, digging my palms into his chest. He understood immediately and rose up to look at my face. The raw desire I saw in his eyes almost made me feel guilty for denying him.

"Alright," he said, a ragged sigh. He cradled me once more to roll our bodies, settling with me lying on his chest. Comfort swept through me when he draped the sheets over us. He then wrapped my arm around his torso, leaving our fingers twined loosely. "Sleep," he said.

The order was easy to follow.


	22. Respite

C-22: Respite

I'd never seen Hux so bent out of shape. Even the blue filter of the hologram couldn't hide the scowl on his face. "Ren, I am certain the Supreme Leader will see the logic in my request. You're making a fool of yourself." His posture was hostile.

"Ask him yourself if you're so certain," Kylo challenged in a pleasant tone. He seemed to not be threatened in the least. "I've been given unlimited access to this ship until the completion of my mission."

"I will ask," Hux retorted, voice cut with anger. "Our Battlecruisers in the Hosnian system are losing ground by the day without the Finalizer, not to mention those TIE squadrons. The Western Reaches should not be considered a priority as there is no significant Resistance presence there. It's a ridiculous waste of resources—"

Kylo reached for the holoprojector control as he interrupted, "Be sure to include that concern, General." The hologram flickered off as Hux raised his finger mid-sentence.

The fight with the Resistance seemed worlds away, and the unfriendly reminder from Hux shook everyone on the bridge. Lieutenant-General Graves stood near the helm with a frown on his face.

"Do not notify me if General Hux attempts to contact me again," Kylo ordered, throwing a look in Graves' direction as he left the bridge.

I made to follow him. "Lord Ren?"

He glanced over his shoulder as he addressed me. "You may remain on the bridge."

When the speed lift doors closed behind him, I felt Graves' heavy gaze on my back. My morning spent on the bridge had been mostly pleasant, but the tension created by Kylo's brief argument with Hux now lingered. I reluctantly rejoined the general at the main viewport. Just minutes before, we spoke of constellations.

"And what is your opinion?" Graves asked, his previous cordiality dimmed.

My hesitation alluded to a diplomatic answer. "I trust the judgement of Lord Ren."

To my surprise, Graves let out a chuckle. "Your loyalty to Ren is without end, my dear." I smiled tersely in response.

That morning, Ren told me that he needed a day of "meditation and research" to locate our next target. The woman, Mora San Tekka, had last seen her husband several years ago on a planet in the Reaches. Finding a planet that fit the description of her memories proved difficult. I held my tongue on the thought that a proper interrogation might have helped. In any case, I appreciated the brief respite from the mission.

"I suppose the course of action is up to the Leader now," Graves continued, turning his gaze to the stars. His silver hair contrasted with the backdrop of space. Once again, the viewport mesmerized me. Nothing thrilled me more than the beauty of space.

"You would have us return to the fleet?" I asked.

Graves shrugged nonchalantly. "Were it my choice," he granted. "Much like yours for Kylo Ren, my regard for Armitage Hux is high."

"Oh?" I resisted the smile that threatened at the name.

"For his age, his accomplishments are brilliant," Graves mused. "I served with his father briefly. Excellent man. Unforgettable."

I nodded at the thought. It occurred to me that I actually knew quite little of Hux beyond his service record. "Then I wish I had served with him more."

Graves nodded his silent approval, and then held his chin in thought. "But as they say, no one can serve two masters."

The insightful comment surprised me, and I didn't know what to say. Thankfully, my communicator interrupted with a chirp. I apologized as I stepped away. "Caltrel here," I answered.

"Rec room, ten minutes?" Vegas' voice.

"Right away, Sergeant." Returning to the general, I offered a quick salute. "I must take my leave from the bridge now, sir."

Graves seemed pleased by my manners, and casually saluted back. "It was a pleasure, Corporal. Anytime."

Finding the training room turned out to be a challenge, since Stormtroopers on patrol only knew enlisted facilities. I ended by asking a Trooper to ask his division commander, hoping that he wouldn't take my name down. Of course he didn't. The red insignias that were given to Vegas and me for our officer uniforms set us apart from the ship's crew.

The officer rec room was actually several rooms—private areas customized to particular workouts. Unsurprisingly, only one room had light shining through the polished glass. Vegas and I were the only officers aboard with pending schedules.

When I entered the room, Vegas paused his boxing match with a training droid. He gestured incredulously to my uniform, and I began unzipping down to my light clothes as I walked toward him. "I'll give you five guesses at Hux's first name," I said, finally letting the smile free.

"Armitage," he said instantly.

My fit of laughter reverberated around the square room. "Why did you never tell me?" I asked breathlessly, absently lying my top on a bench.

Vegas shook his head in recollection. "After I found out, I couldn't stop laughing to his face for a week."

"Oh—by the stars!" I laughed, holding my aching stomach. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to lose control of my humor. Vegas laughed either with me or at me, and soon maneuvered me back to the bench. Urging me to sit, he began pulling off my boots.

"I'll give you five guesses at my first name," he said, looking up at me with a glint in his eye.

I wiped my eyes of tears before looking down at him. "Vegas … I can't believe I don't know your first name," I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"That's your first guess." He winked.

Forcing a straight face, I thought of the common names that I knew back in the fleet. "Urik." He shook his head after each attempt. "Flynn? Diego? Lars?"

"That's five," he interrupted, helping me to my feet. "It's John."

When I looked up at him, I could see it. He wore a shy smile as I studied his face in the new light. "John Vegas," I repeated, smiling. "It has a ring to it."

He laughed, turning back to the boxing mat. "Don't embarrass me," he teased, but I could tell I already had.

"Well, you already know my first name." I stretched at the edge of the mat, recalling his days as my prison warden. It seemed like an eternity ago.

"I do," he confessed. "But honestly, I don't know how to pronounce it." He looked up from deactivating the training droid, making eye contact with me.

"Loo-see-ah," I said. He repeated it once, and I decided that I didn't like the sound. "Before, my friends called me 'Lucy.'"

"Lucy," he said slowly, nodding. "I like that. Lu-cy."

After several boxing matches, my stomach actually did feel sore. Vegas avoided the topic of the mission as we made conversation between blows, which disappointed me. I supposed that both of us were working through it in our own way. He did ask me if I felt safe with Ren, to which I replied yes. I described the contrast that I'd seen in Ren's personality.

"We'll see how far he takes this obsession," Vegas eventually said, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow.

"Obsession?" I felt embarrassment wash over me.

"This Luke Skywalker obsession," he clarified, face buried in a towel.

I schooled my face quickly. "I hadn't thought of it that way," I admitted.

"I have." Vegas' expression was hard. "The real fight isn't with hiding, cowardly Jedi—it's with the Resistance. Period."

"You sound like Hux." At his quizzical look, I added, "He contacted Ren this morning. He wants the Finalizer to reinforce the fleet in the Hosnian system."

Vegas let out a long sigh, tossing aside the towel. "What a mess."

I couldn't help but agree. Though I had been firm in my belief of the First Order's goals for some time, it was now tainted with confusion. Kylo Ren seemed to be taking things into his own hands, and the Supreme Leader seemed to be letting him. "In the end," I mused aloud, "I suppose we should have faith that there is a reason."

Vegas scoffed as he raised his fists for the next round. "Faith is for fools."

After showering and leaving the rec room, I felt beyond tired. Vegas offered his quarters for a nap since mine were occupied, but I decided against it. I didn't want to make Kylo upset, or explain why he shouldn't be upset. Vegas seemed to understand.

When I entered the quarters, a droid was busy setting out dinner. I thanked it as it zipped out the door, but it didn't seem to have voice protocols. I ate what I wanted before hesitantly padding through the bedroom door. Kylo knelt as if in meditation at the end of the bed. On second glance, he was studying a datapad from the stack nearby. The room was filled with dim, orange light from the sunken lights on the walls.

"Are you hungry, Kylo?" I asked from behind him.

"No," he said, not even turning his head.

Eying the bed, I quickly decided that the couch was a better option. Defeated, I retreated back to the entry room. The throw blanket would suffice. Though I thought I was tired enough to sleep, my thoughts came alive when I laid down with what Vegas had said. "This Luke Skywalker obsession." In retrospect, I'd never seen Kylo act out of such raw hatred. To execute an old woman? It seemed to lack reason and purpose altogether.

Despite my troubled thoughts, I eventually felt sleep's pull. The dull hum of the ship's engines was a pleasant lullaby.

My eyes snapped open when I felt the sensation of falling, but I was actually being lifted up. Kylo's face burst into a smile when he saw my surprise. "Sleep in the bed," he told me, carrying me into the bedroom.

Feeling unsteady, I seized the back of his neck. "You were busy," I mumbled, trying to clear the fog of sleep. A sound of disapproval rumbled in his chest. When we reached my side of the bed, he paused before putting me down.

"I've held you like this before, when you were sick." He was close enough that I could hear even the lowest whisper. "You probably don't remember," he murmured, lowering me to the mattress.

When I felt the cold sheets beneath me, I tightened my grip around his neck. "I remember," I whispered into his neck, feeling him freeze.

He reached behind to unclasp my hands and pin them to the bed with gentle pressure. Looming over me, he wore an expression similar to the night before. His hungry eyes traveled much lower this time. "You don't usually wear this to bed," he commented.

I flushed unconsciously at his scrutiny. "Decontamination hasn't returned my …," I trailed off when he pressed his nose into my neck. His stubble grazed the skin there as he breathed in, slow and deliberate. I shivered.

"I want you," he said in a low voice, a vibration against my neck. His hands began a blazing trail down my body, setting it afire. "I want all of you."

I could barely catch my breath; I could barely think. When he looked at my face to gain approval, I only nodded mutely. His hands traveled underneath my tank top, removing it fully this time. Embarrassment swept through me, but he didn't hesitate in exploring my body. He undressed me piece by piece, taking his time to touch sensitive spots with wandering hands.

"Kylo," I gasped when he touched my inner thigh. Seeming to become aware that I was teetering on the edge of the bed, he scooped me up and tossed me to the middle. The rough toss made my heart pound, and I sat up as he quickly undressed. He then climbed over me to give me a searing kiss. I heard myself moan at the intensity of it, feeling myself come undone. His fingers loosely gripped my throat as his other hand continued its path down my body.

"Touch me," he said roughly. I obeyed and let my hands wander, finding firm muscle beneath soft skin. The places that made him suppress a sound in his throat became my favorite. As our passion became more intimate, I felt my mind drift farther from my worries, my doubts …

I stood in the shower for at least twenty minutes after the … activities. My head was filled with sex to a dizzying amount. Lovemaking had never been quite so intense in all my life. The water eased the kinks out of my muscles and washed away lingering excitement.

When I returned to the room, the bed was made with new sheets. Kylo was once again engrossed in datapads—half dressed, hair still wet from his shower. I knelt beside him and traced some of the fading marks on his back. "Restricted access" was written across the top of the module he was viewing.

"Go to bed," he said quietly, looking over to briefly cup my cheek. I felt a sting when his hand returned to the datapad.

"Aren't you tired?" I asked as I climbed into bed.

"I'll sleep later."

Pulling the sheets up to my chin, I tried to ignore the fresh memories that sent tingles through my body. Kylo's obsession returned to mind, which tainted my high spirits. As I watched the blue screen illuminate the grimace on his face, I had a feeling that this was just the tip of the iceberg.


	23. Blood

C-23: Blood

The Stormtrooper transport jostled rhythmically as we drew near the landing zone. I hated flying at such low altitude; I gripped my handrail with renewed vigor. An orange glint off one of my men's visors caught my eye, and I turned to see rays of sunlight beaming through the small viewports of the transport. The soothing sight contrasted sharply with our purpose on the planet.

"Preliminary reports suggest dense population with no established military presence," I briefed my unit. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure they were paying attention, I wondered if any of them were scared.

"No quarter, ma'am?" one Trooper asked.

He must be new, I thought. "No quarter," I confirmed.

The landing came sooner than expected, and I quickly signaled for blasters at the ready. The ramp hissed its descent. "Be fast, be smart!" I ordered. "You're trained for this!"

We must have been the last transport—the battle was already well underway. Blaster fire filled my ears as I quickly assessed the field. A formation of Stormtroopers was already pressing into the city, carving a path through some kind of park. They had left some stragglers near the park's edge, by a fountain. Without hesitation, I raised my blaster and fired on the stragglers. Shot—kill. Shot—kill.

I signaled my unit to take cover in the shrubbery of the park. Since we were the last transport, it was our responsibility to defend the landing zone. Soon enough, a new batch of laser fire showered from a nearby rooftop. I heard one of my men go down and I bit my lip hard beneath my helmet. "Damnit," I hissed.

I alternated between firing and taking cover, letting my training guide me. Soon enough, I learned the opponent's pattern and took two clear shots. Shot—kill. Shot—kill. The third was handled by my men.

"Ma'am, FN-1127 is down," a Trooper reported in the calm.

"Understood," I responded in a tempered voice.

A blast from a fragmentation grenade drew my attention to the far side of the transport lineup. The victim of the blast looked pretty damaged—perhaps unable to fly. I didn't see where the frag was thrown from.

"Reveal yourself!" I yelled, signaling my men to remain in cover. I crouched behind a wooden container myself, peering out. "By command of the First Order, reveal yourself!"

Ten or more shooters appeared from behind objects in the park, raining laser bolts down on our position. How could I have missed them? Glaring out from behind my cover, I could already tell that their excitement at an ambush made them careless. I stood and took rapid aim at three of the larger enemies. Shot—kill. Shot—kill. Shot—kill.

When I took cover again, I saw another one of my men on the ground. His arm was hyperflexed behind his back as if he had landed on it. Either unconscious or dead. Sudden quietness told me that the rest of the shooters had been taken down by my men. I stood to assess the field, eyes scanning carefully. One last shooter made a suicide run in my direction, yelling something in his native language. Shot—kill.

Darting to my man, I rolled him over to check for a pulse. Just by taking his helmet off and seeing his face, I could tell he was dead. No pulse. I looked at the underside of his helmet. It said "FN-1128."

I heard my men stirring and looked over to see them saluting. Stepping around some shrubbery, I spotted Kylo returning to the landing zone. "Lord Ren," I greeted, walking up to him. "Orders?"

"Depart," he said shortly. He revealed a datacube before tucking it into his robe. "We have what we need."

Raising my wrist, I opened the local frequency. "All units, report to transports. Departure underway," I ordered. I returned to my men to find them already recovering the bodies of their fallen comrades. The now familiar chill of loss settled over me. I bit my lip.

A Stormtrooper stood by me as I watched them carry the bodies back to the transport. "They were brothers," a feminine voice said. I glanced at the Trooper in surprise. It was rare to see a female posted on the front lines. The side of her helmet was streaked with green—a grass stain no doubt.

"Knew them well?" I asked, scanning the area subconsciously.

She shrugged. "Not well."

"Good."

I left to follow Vegas into the command shuttle when I spotted him returning with his unit. His pace was unusually fast, and I wasn't able to catch up to him in time. At the bottom of the ramp, the Stormtrooper commander waited for my report.

"Corporal," the commander greeted.

"Sir," I replied, snapping a quick salute. "I lost two. FN-1127 and FN-1128. My unit witnessed the blast to Transport 1 if further information is needed."

"That won't be necessary. It's getting scrapped." He quickly tapped out the report on his datapad, and then saluted me. "Carry on."

The battle high of adrenaline was replaced by numbness quickly enough. I sat in the common area and stared at the stars like I always did. Ever since I was assigned to be a unit leader for Kylo's excursion teams, each mission was the same. Land, kill, leave. Land, kill, leave. Land, kill, leave.

It had been two months.

I didn't even have time to wonder where Vegas had gone before we were docking with the Finalizer. The ship emptied quickly and the Stormtroopers filed into decontamination. Luckily, I was able to get the last available private room reserved for officers. The purplish ultraviolet light bounced off my armor as I stripped it off. The poignant smell of the so-called "acid shower" on the other side of the curtain burned my nostrils.

"Caltrel?" I heard from the other side of the plastic cubicle.

I leaned toward the door. "Vegas?"

The door opened after a brief knock, and Vegas shuffled in holding his helmet under his arm. Blood was streaked over his shoulder and across his breastplate. I held up a silent finger pointing at the door.

"Please," he said simply, already taking a seat across from me in the cramped space. "I'll look away, I promise."

I let out a sigh, muffled by the filter of my helmet. Taking it as a sign of approval, he mirrored my actions of pulling armor off piece by piece. Each piece clattered into the plastic bins at our feet. I watched Vegas, noticing the new lines that seemed to appear on his face daily.

"I lost one," he said, unstrapping his bloodied plate. "This one, actually." The thought gave me chills.

"Two," I said, and he nodded. We used to share kill counts as well, but I'm sure he lost track as quickly as I did. Though I didn't know the exact number, I could remember each race, each expression. Sometimes I dreamed about them.

I was relieved that Vegas got into the acid shower before me. He hissed at the cold spray, muttering a curse. Finally removing my stuffy helmet, I carefully palpated the angry bruise on my cheekbone. I cringed at the fresh sting, gritting my teeth. I ripped the velcro of my choker with unnecessary force, tossing it into the bin.

"Ren thinks this is the one," Vegas said, drawing my attention. I could make out a blurry silhouette behind the semi-opaque curtain. "The intel on Tekka looks pretty solid." I didn't comment.

When I heard him reach for a towel, I felt a spike of panic. I didn't expect him to finish so quickly. I raised my hand to cover my face as he stepped out of the shower, dressed in decon gray. When I tried to step passed him, he grabbed my arm. I flinched.

"Are you crying?" he asked, voice rough with surprise. I jerked my arm free just to have my other arm grabbed, revealing my face. He squinted in the purple light. "How did that happen?"

I glared at him, feeling myself on the verge of tears. "Let me go," I rasped.

But Vegas was determined. "Did he hurt you?" He turned my head to see the fading bruises on my neck. "Caltrel, did he hurt you?"

"Stop!" I yelled, pushing him hard. He staggered backwards, catching himself on the door. The cubicle walls shuddered, and I could only imagine the conduct reports being mentally prepared in the room next to ours. Vegas' face wore unforgettable surprise.

I retreated into the shower without a word, immediately feeling my light clothes soaked through with the chemical solution. Tears came in a rush, and I choked back a silent sob in my throat. I felt Vegas linger on the other side of the curtain.

"I didn't know," he said lowly, evenly. I could tell he was ashamed. "Caltrel—"

"Go away." My voice was as cold as ice. I heard the door open and close immediately. Blood rushed against the back of my skull, a pounding headache in the rhythm of my heartbeat. I closed my eyes against the chaos in my head, feeling tears flow freely. By the time I noticed that I was shaking, my fingernails were blue.

Three blankets, two pillows, and an hour's time brought my core temperature back up. Even though I was clean, my whole body felt dirty. My hands, my body, my mind felt marked and tainted. Tainted with blood, with killing. Tainted by Kylo Ren.

I didn't fight the depression this time; I embraced the dark emptiness. It was better than feeling all the guilt and regret that I'd kicked into the corner of my mind. It was better than feeling anything at all. As I laid under dark bedsheets, I imagined myself floating in the blackness of space among the stars.

Kylo eventually returned to the room at his usual time, very late at night. Because of our argument the night before, I knew he wouldn't touch me. Sex had become a predictable routine, and pleasure had become one-sided. I remained wrapped in my cocoon as I heard him shower, and then he came to the bed. He began to pull back the sheets covering me.

"Lucia," he snapped when he found nothing but pillows. I pulled the barriers away until I saw his face, skeleton white in the darkness. He didn't flinch when he saw the black eye; instead, he softly stroked it. Pain burned across my face, and I recoiled.

"I'm taking you and Vegas back," he announced in a musing voice.

My eyebrows came together. Vegas and I had negotiated our assignment to unit leaders with Captain Phasma herself. "We'll lose our rank," I said.

"You won't." His tone told me not to argue. "Now, sleep," he said, lying back. I worked some pillows out of the way to fall into place next to him. His arm held me loosely, but possessively.

I missed my cocoon and the feeling of space. Waves of sadness crashed into me like waves on an ocean planet. I should have seen that ambush. I bit my lip to keep from crying again. I shouldn't have hid from Vegas. The pain was enough to bring me back to that calming emptiness. I shouldn't be here!

When I stirred awake, I realized I must have fallen asleep at some point. I soon grasped that it was still the night cycle. Blue light shone from the corner of the room, and I sat up to find Kylo's coded door wide open. He was missing from the bed. I pulled a sheet with me as I got up.

He didn't seem to notice as I briefly peeked through the doorway. His dark eyes were fixed on some kind of pedestal. Not daring to enter the room, I turned back toward the bed. Before I could take a step, I felt a ghostly hand seal around my neck. My hands scrabbled at the invisible grasp, panic sweeping as my airway closed.

Kylo appeared before me, face carved with anger. His hand replaced the unrelenting pressure, lifting me into the air. "What did you see?" he demanded furiously. His eyes blazed.

Nothing but squeaks of air made it passed my voicebox. He growled in frustration as he dropped me to the ground, and my body collapsed. I coughed relentlessly, barely able to gulp air in between. "What did you see?" he roared.

"A—ped—" I gasped, head spinning. "A pedestal!"

He leaned down to seize my face in a firm grip, angling my head painfully. "Never enter that room," he ground out, as if speaking to a child. "Do you understand?"

"Yes!" I cried out, thankful when he released me.

Shaking and breathless, I withdrew to the bed. Never before had I been so scared for my life. Never before had I felt so hated. Even the walls and the shadows seemed to be against me. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself far, far away. When he returned to bed some time later, I felt myself begin to panic. My body reacted as if I was in battle, but I laid there frozen anyway. He inevitably pulled me to his chest, and I felt the warmth of an embrace.

"I'm sorry," he murmured without expression.

My racing heart inhibited proper thought. "K—Kylo," I sobbed, realizing in a blink that I was crying. "You used to be gentle," I croaked.

Nothing else was said that night. I laid motionless in his arms, staring absently at the ceiling until I saw the dawning light of the day cycle. One thought repeated itself in my mind: I shouldn't be here.


	24. Jakku

C-24: Jakku

Kylo woke with excitement. He acted as though nothing at all had happened the night before, making me wonder if it was just a terrible nightmare. However, the fresh, purplish marks on my neck told otherwise. The tired rims around my eyes seemed to be a permanent feature.

"Wear your armor," Kylo told me as I got dressed. "Hux arrived last night."

My armor felt bulkier than ever without a proper night's rest. I could barely turn my head from side to side. Vegas greeted us as we boarded the speed lift for the bridge. I sensed his eyes on me, and I felt a guilty throb for treating him poorly the day before.

Lieutenant-General Graves stood with General Hux on the bridge, locked in conversation. When salutes went up at Kylo's presence, Hux whirled with a scowl on his face. "Ren," he greeted with forced cordiality. "I've been ordered to assist you."

"How fortuitous," Kylo offered, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've tracked my objective to this planet."

Hux looked back at the main viewport, half covered by the orange surface of a planet. The Finalizer had entered the planet's orbit—a bold display of the First Order's authority. "What planet is this, Trooper?" Hux asked the con.

"Jakku," the officer said. The red-haired general repeated the name with a skeptical gaze.

Graves spoke up from his quiet observation. "Command shuttle preparations are underway, Lord Ren. Coordinates have been sent." He nodded in my direction by way of greeting, and I tipped my helmet. Vegas and I maintained a respectful distance, silently observing.

"It's here, Hux," Kylo said, coming to stand beside him. "My excretion team will handle the extraction. Your help is not needed."

"Perhaps," Hux replied sardonically. "I'm merely here to expedite the process."

An alert signal blared from the con, drawing everyone's attention on the bridge. Graves asked for a report as the officer assessed his panels. "Our sensors have detected a vessel entering the atmosphere at the eastern hemisphere, sir. It's … a Resistance X-Wing."

Surprise was tangible in the room. Hux's glare was on Kylo with a vengeance. "This is no coincidence. The nearest Resistance operation is parsecs away from here." Kylo was already stalking toward the lift. "I told you they would catch onto your scent!"

The speed lift doors closed, and Kylo heaved a tense sigh. The whir of the lift sounded louder than it ever had before. Steeling my mind for the mission, I asked, "What are the orders, sir?"

"We will find Lor San Tekka, and then we will capture the Resistance pilots," Kylo said confidently. I sensed his excitement.

Vegas gave a thoughtful hum. "I have a good feeling about this," he said.

The command shuttle was fully loaded by the time we arrived. Kylo signaled the pilot to deploy the Stormtrooper transports early since time was of the essence. He also ordered the Stormtrooper commander to locate Lor San Tekka immediately. With whispers of the Resistance rippling through the ship, excitement buzzed in the air. Before I knew it, I felt the turbulence of our entrance into the atmosphere.

The early deployment of the Stormtroopers proved effective. As we disembarked the command shuttle, smoke rose from the scorched streets of the desert town. Incinerator Stormtroopers torched the village huts before the citizens could retreat inside. Fire blazed hot against the darkness of the night sky. Many citizens threw down their weapons and ran in panic.

Kylo's com lit up as we marched through the smoldering battlefield. "We've found him, sir," said the Stormtrooper commander's voice.

"Bring him out," was Kylo's simple command.

The shooting died down as the village defenders either died or surrendered. Standing in what seemed like the village square, Kylo waited as two Stormtroopers dragged an old man toward him. With the scattered Trooper units on standby and the herded civilians, there almost seemed to be an audience for the much anticipated interrogation. Vegas and I stood some distance behind Kylo, eyes scanning for snipers or assassins.

Lor San Tekka's face held peaceful defiance as he stood before Kylo Ren. It reminded me of his wife who had died months before. Kylo assessed him briefly. "Look how old you've become," he said, as if reminiscing.

Tekka's expression was stone-like. "Something far worse has happened to you."

Kylo paced around him like an animal stalking its prey. He seemed to be taking his time. "You know what I've come for."

"I know where you come from." The old man maintained eye contact with the faceless mask. "Before they called you 'Kylo Ren.'"

"The map, to Skywalker. We know you found it." Kylo's voice was laden with patience. "And now, you're going to give it to the First Order," he said, prideful. I felt Vegas shift by my side, and I could tell he was anxious.

Tekka remained defiant. "The First Order rose from the Dark Side—you did not."

Kylo leered over the old man. "I'll show you the Dark Side."

"You may try," Tekka continued, "but you cannot deny the truth that is your family."

Kylo paused, and for a brief moment I felt a rush of curiosity. "You're so right," he agreed with a flash of his lightsaber. A definitive slash landed across Tekka's body, scorching to the bone. The old man's body fell limply to the ground.

A blue blaster flashed in my peripheral, but it was too late. I stared in awe as Kylo's outstretched hand stopped the bolt in midair. My eyes quickly traced the shot—a Resistance pilot! Two Stormtroopers dashed over to subdue him.

"Did you see him?" Vegas asked me. Our blasters were already at the ready, scanning the area as we searched for other threats.

"No," I hissed, watching them drag the thrashing pilot before Kylo. I had never seen a Resistance fighter so close. The Troopers pushed him to his knees.

"So, who talks first?" I heard him say. He glared up at Kylo defiantly, but with a spark of sick humor. The way Kylo crouched down, studying him, made me think he was searching his mind. "Do you talk first? I talk first?"

"The old man gave it to you," Kylo perceived.

"It's very hard to understand you with all the …"

Kylo stood, signaling the Troopers. "Search him."

The two Troopers handled him roughly, searching one side at a time. I felt a jolt of worry that the map wasn't here at all. "Nothing, sir."

"Put him on board." Kylo dismissed the Troopers, and they hauled the pilot away. Continuing to thrash, the pilot shouted profanities over his shoulder.

The Stormtrooper commander intercepted Kylo before he left the village square. "Sir, the villagers?" he asked, saluting.

"Kill them all," Kylo said. He stormed off toward the command shuttle as the standby units fell into position. Screams rose above the sound of blaster bolts as we walked away from the village, chilling me to the bone. Had I led the Troopers, I would not have taken prisoners. It seemed dishonorable to shoot unarmed captives. It seemed … wrong.

Kylo paused to glance back before we reached the ramp, and I followed his gaze to a lone Stormtrooper. Helmet bloodied, armor caked in sand, the Trooper stood with his blaster lowered while the rest of his unit carried out the execution order. "Vegas," Kylo called over his shoulder.

"Sir?" Vegas stood ready.

"Find out that Trooper's designation," he ordered, turning back to board the ramp.

"Yes, sir," chirped Vegas, breaking off.

"My lord?" I said curiously as we trekked up the ramp. I looked back to see the Trooper still frozen amid the shooting.

"I sense something strange about him," Kylo responded, pulling his hood back as we stepped aboard. "The Force has moved strangely today."

The Force. The thought made me wonder if his actions last night had anything to do with the Force. As I followed him into the common area, my mouth opened to ask him.

"Sir, where would you like to keep the prisoner?" the commander asked from behind us.

Kylo stood at the viewport with his hands behind his back. "The brig, commander. I will interrogate him as soon as we return to the Finalizer."

The commander saluted as he left us. The vertical thrusters shook the entire ship as we lifted off the uneven desert sands. Before I could once again summon the courage to ask Kylo, Vegas joined us.

"Sir, his designation is FN-2187," Vegas reported, pulling off his dusty helmet. "His unit leader said he's new to the front lines."

Kylo didn't respond; he instead gazed out the viewport in silence. Vegas shot me a look as he set down his helmet, sitting at the conference table. The mission didn't feel like a complete failure with a Resistance pilot in the brig, but my thoughts were still very much unsettled.

Things weren't right between Kylo and me—not like I wanted them to be. In fact, things weren't right between Vegas and me either. I crossed my arms tentatively as I stood behind Kylo's brooding form. "Kylo?" I heard my voice say.

"Not now, Lucia," the mechanical voice said.

Somehow, I knew he had predicted the unspoken question on my lips. Hopelessness burst to life inside my chest, an aching burn. I planted my hands on the table under the weight of my conflict and ignored Vegas' questioning gaze. I shouldn't …

Decontamination was abuzz with talk of the Resistance prisoner. Stormtroopers shared their battle stories with renewed energy that the past months had dimmed. Routine steps took me to the private rooms. I recklessly took off my helmet as I passed through the open shower room, but no one noticed me. Vegas' voice could be heard talking to one of the unit leaders in another cubicle. Silent surprise flashed across Vegas' face when I opened the door.

"… important intel that we need," he finished, keeping his tone natural. He was shirtless and halfway through wrapping an old wrist injury.

"Ren will get it out of him for sure," the Trooper shouted back. The conversation ended when Vegas didn't reply. I sat down across from him, unsure quite why the moment had struck me. Vegas' surprise would have been humorous had it been a joke.

Silently reaching for me, Vegas caressed the skin right below my black eye. Agony appeared on his face. As he gently removed my choker and brushed his hand over the bruises underneath, tears brimmed in my eyes. He helped me remove each piece of my armor carefully as I fought back sobs. Moving to sit beside me, he inspected any other bruises that my light clothes left revealed.

"Vegas," I sobbed quietly, broken and tired. "He hurt me," I whimpered.

His arms pulled me into a tight embrace, interrupting another wretched cry. His body was warm and soft and surrounded me with the feeling of protection. "I know," he said firmly, tightening his embrace. "I know."

I didn't care if minutes or hours passed as I lost myself in Vegas' healing arms. All my worries swirled around inside my head without my willpower holding them back, but Vegas' presence gave me the strength to bear it all. With a painful jab in my stomach, I realized that I never wanted to return to Kylo's side again.


	25. Awaken

C-25: Awaken

I didn't see Kylo that night, nor the following morning. Though I was thankful for the night's rest, my mind dwelt on the thought of him returning at any moment. Early in the morning, I dressed in my uniform and used makeup to hide my black eye. It was convincing enough for the Stormtroopers. When I opened my door to leave for the rec room, Vegas was standing there.

"Hi," he breathed, obviously taken off guard.

Recovering from my own surprise, I tucked a pinch of hair behind my ear. "Vegas … what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he said in a breath. His nervousness looked completely foreign on him. Red rims hung beneath his eyes.

"Alright," I said, glancing back into the room. "I'm not sure when Kylo—I mean, Ren—will return."

Vegas shook his head. "Ren is interrogating the prisoner right now." At my questioning look, he added, "He's been unconscious—they used some kind of tranquilizer on him."

"Oh." I tried to not imagine how much force was needed to break a solider with that kind of willpower. In any case, Kylo could take anything he wanted from his mind. Snapping back to the present, I motioned for Vegas to enter. I immediately regretted leaving my breakfast obviously untouched on the table.

"On second thought—" Vegas spun around, nearly knocking into me in the process. "I'd rather talk somewhere else." I didn't have the energy to question him.

"Your quarters?" I guessed, and his sheepish smile proved I was correct.

Vegas' quarters were much like our Starkiller accommodations. The small living space and simple refresher seemed more cramped than I remembered. As I took a seat on the bed, I noticed that the whole room smelled like Vegas: standard issue soap and gunmetal. In fact, as I glanced over the sparse furnishings, I was surprised to see a handheld blaster on the dresser.

"I didn't know we were allowed to check guns out of the armory," I said, turning to find him. He was standing against the bulkhead across from the bed, tapping his heel rhythmically. I was suddenly worried. "What did you want to talk to me about?" I asked.

"Listen, Caltrel—" A nervous hand ran through his cropped hair. "Oh, boy." He exhaled in a whoosh, coming to sit beside me. I could practically feel his anxious energy.

I laughed at his uncharacteristic behavior. "Vegas, you listened when I confided in you last night. I'm listening now," I encouraged.

He nodded as he leaned forward on his knees, and then shot me a measuring glance. "We're friends, right?"

My eyebrows drew together. "Of course," I murmured.

"How good of friends?" he pressed, looking me right in the eye.

I hesitated before I answered this time. "You're my closest friend in the entire First Order, Vegas," I said, trying to keep stray humor out of my face.

He stood abruptly, and I followed him with my eyes. I'd never seen Vegas so edgy. "I feel the same way," he confirmed with a nod. He caught my gaze with a dip of his head. "And as your closest friend, I need to … ask some things."

I shrugged, not seeing the issue. "Ask anything."

He planted his chin in his hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. "If you had to re-swear your oaths to the Order, would you do it?"

I stopped myself from giving the knee-jerk answer that was my training. Would I die for the First Order? My mouth opened and then closed again. "I—would you?" I stuttered.

Shaking his head, Vegas said, "I want to hear what you think first."

After a brief assessment, I answered, "If I knew then what I know now, I might not have sworn my oaths."

"Why?"

Another question that provoked thoughts that lay dusty and half-formed in the back of my mind. I worked my bottom lip between my teeth as I thought. "I don't agree with their methods, or their mission."

He took his seat again, coming full circle. "I need to get to the point," he sighed.

"Would you?" I asked again, resting my hand on his arm to get his attention. His vivid eyes shifted from my hand to my eyes, and I already knew the answer.

"Caltrel, I only have one shot at this, so listen." He slipped his hand underneath mine, holding tightly. The seriousness in his eyes unnerved me. "I want you to leave the First Order with me."

I immediately stood to my feet, breaking the quietness of the moment. "What?" I shouted, completely aghast.

A finger at his lips attempted to silence my protest. "Caltrel, listen—"

"You're defecting?" I hissed, yanking him up by his hand. "Are you insane?"

"Caltrel, you're not thinking," he interrupted, giving up on holding my hand. "You just said you wouldn't swear the—"

"That was hypothetical!" I ranted. "This is suicidal, Vegas, and you know it." I felt a cold sweat break out at the thought. If I know Vegas is defecting, then—

"I have a pilot, Caltrel," he said, stealing a glance at the blaster on his dresser. "I have a plan. Just listen …"

I was shaking my head. "You shouldn't have told me." A familiar sensation stung my eyes. "Ren will find out. And he'll kill you," I said evenly.

Vegas' eyes pleaded with me. "That's why we're leaving before he gets in your head," he said earnestly. "Caltrel, please. Stop and think about it."

My mind raced with how I could prevent Kylo from finding out. I was helpless against hiding thoughts from him. It was impossible! "I can't hide anything from him, Vegas," I said, feeling my face drain of color.

His hands rested gently on my shoulders, gaining my complete attention. "Come with me," he said. I kept shaking my head, and his frown deepened. "The First Order is doing no good for the galaxy right now, Caltrel. The system is failing because of Dark Side ideals." Anger flooded his face. "I didn't join up to slaughter civilians in the streets! Did you?"

I trembled underneath the weight of his hands as though they weighed a ton. My voice was hallow yet full of grief. "You know why I joined up, Vegas."

Realization flashed in his eyes. "Caltrel," he said softly, as if his voice would hurt me, "he's tearing you apart."

Emotion overtook my face, my body, my voice. I grasped for words. "I loved him," I tried to explain. "I would die for him, Vegas."

Vegas' eyes never left mine, even as the vivid green glossed over with unshed tears. "Would you live for him?" he challenged with a crack in his voice.

The thought wasn't lost on me. For the past months, Kylo's tyrannical behavior seemed to be a new reality. I had hardened myself to the idea that nothing could change, and that my place was by his side. For the first time in a long time, new possibilities opened in my mind. A world without anger, without fear … without Kylo.

"He'll look for us," I warned, looking up at him.

Vegas swiped the corner of his eye before moisture could escape. "He's looking for Luke Skywalker. We're two Stormtroopers."

Was it so simple? I was shocked to find myself opening up to the idea. "Who is this pilot?" I asked, determined to poke holes in his plan.

He gestured for me to sit again, and I did with a glower on my face. "Listen to my plan," he said, pressing his hands together. "Trip McConnell, a friend from Starkiller. I don't think you ever met him. He does supply runs for the Finalizer's supporting cruisers."

I wasn't convinced. "Say we make it to the Titan," I said, naming the first Star Cruiser on my mind. "What then?"

"Then the Titan makes a supply run to Takodana," Vegas continued with growing confidence, "we 'unload' at Maz Kanata's outpost, and then hire someone to help us disappear."

"With what credits?" I asked.

Vegas hesitated. "We don't need to think that far ahead yet. The important part is getting on and off the Titan undetected." He pointed to his red pennant. "These will help. No one will question us."

I fiddled with my badge aimlessly as I visualized his plan. With the amount of trust and liberty that was given to us on the Finalizer, it could work. "If we get caught, we will be killed. As traitors," I said. The word left a sour taste in my mouth.

"I know," Vegas said, nodding gravely. "We won't get caught. I've given this a lot of thought."

I was torn between thinking he was insane and thinking he was a genius. However, no matter how I thought it through, I always ended up at Kylo. I wanted Vegas to understand. "I can't leave him, Vegas," I said finally. "He would hate me."

Vegas wore an exacerbated frown. "You're saying he doesn't hate you now?" he demanded. The stabbing comment sunk into me like a knife, and I'm sure it showed on my face. He was immediately apologetic, sinking to his knees beside the bed. "I don't mean it like that … I just can't stand what he's done to you."

"I know," I conceded, rubbing the marks on my upper arms. "I can't help it."

"Let me help you," Vegas interjected, fresh determination in his eyes. "Take a chance with me. Trust me."

I stared at him for a moment, finally seeing the path clearly. A path away from the First Order, forever. The thought scared me. "It's so sudden," I said, voice wavering.

"It has to be." He shook his head, but didn't apologize. "I need your answer, Caltrel."

Looking down at his hopeful face, I let out a tense, unceremonious laugh. He smiled, and I felt a thrill of excitement pass between us. "When?" I asked.

"Today. Luckily, before Ren even realizes we're gone."

I bit my lip in thought. "He won't notice that I'm gone until tonight."

Vegas nodded. "And he shouldn't need me for this interrogation. So here's what I want you to do …"

As I returned to my room to gather some things, my whole body started shaking with excitement. I second guessed my decision as soon as the doors closed behind me, cutting off Vegas' influence. Can I really do this? My eyes traveled around the room aimlessly, searching for something, anything to anchor me there.

The door signal chimed for the droid delivering my lunch, and I got an idea. "Droid, wait for a few minutes. I have a task for you," I said, and it chirped its acknowledgement.

I sat down with my datapad and started to write a note to Kylo. I wanted to tell him how deeply in love I'd fallen with him. I wanted to tell him how much he changed my life. I wanted him to forgive me for the crime I was about to commit. I wanted all this, but I knew deep down to my very soul that I couldn't stay. It was as if Vegas' words had awakened a mysterious force inside of me, pulling me away from Kylo's dark path. After I finished the note, I felt a spark of confidence.

I copied the note onto a datacube, offering it to the droid. "Deliver this to Lord Ren tomorrow night, with his dinner. Do you understand?" The droid gave a cheerful beep at the instruction. A pincer extended to grasp the cube, and then retracted back into its compartment. "Thank you," I said, standing.

I'm ready.


	26. Epilogue

Epilogue

I watched Vegas' face from across the table. I was probably the only one who saw through his veneer of confidence as he haggled with the smugglers. Maz Kanata had been kind enough to offer us refuge at her castle on Takodana, but Vegas and I knew it was only a matter of time before the First Order knocked on the door. Her hospitality and kindness to people that she barely knew shocked me. "Be careful," she had told me, pointing to the terminals that flashed First Order images of an orange droid. "The First Order has many eyes on many planets."

"I could buy a brand new ship for twenty-five thousand credits!" Vegas said through his teeth, planting his fist on the table. "I could buy two."

My hood covered most of my face, but I could see the disappointed reaction from the Rodian smuggler. I could only imagine how many people he had conned at the rural outpost. As the argument continued, I distracted myself with the starchart that outlined our jouney on my datapad. Suddenly, a module that I hadn't closed flashed across the screen. With a sad twinge in my chest, I realized it was the first draft of the letter that Kylo had probably seen by then.

"Kylo—

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I hope you don't take my leaving as a betrayal, because it's not. I will always be indebted to you for giving me a second chance at life. I will always remember the days I spent in love with you. Your mission to find Luke Skywalker has changed you from the man that I fell in love with. Maybe one day the stars will reunite me with that man. For now, please know that my feelings for you were real. Please know that you have forever taken a piece of my heart. Please know that I will be never the same."

The signature line was blank, and I found myself wondering how soon he would forget my name. I wondered if he would take another lover in place of me, or if he would fall in love again. Surprise washed through me when I found myself wanting him to find someone new.

"Ten-thousand credits is more than generous, human," the Rodian was saying, his Basic heavily accented. "Half up front, half on arrival."

Vegas stuck out his hand with a small smirk on his face. "Deal."

The Rodian went on to describe his ship and where to meet him. After he left the busy cantina, Vegas finally looked at me with a tired smile on his face. "I guess I still have some trader instincts in me."

I felt a smile on my face. "You did well," I said. "My diplomacy skills are probably a bit rustier."

Vegas lifted his forgotten drink in agreement. "I have a lot of things to brush up on." Finishing it in one gulp, he gestured to the door. "Ready to get out of here?"

I scanned the room for Maz, but I doubted I could find her easily in the crowd. She already knew how grateful I was. "Yes," I said, standing to take his outstretched arm.

"This crazy trip is almost over," he said as we navigated the room, keeping me close amid the crowd. It was hard to hear over the voices and music.

Once we were outside beneath the gray sky, I asked him, "What then?"

Vegas looked down at me with mild surprise. "When we get to Tatooine?" I nodded, and his face became passive. "Moisture farming," he joked.

I laughed as I pictured him wearing a tattered robe amid the sands. "Sounds exciting."

He shrugged with a smile on his face. "Honestly, I'm ready for 'exciting.'"

…

Three Years Later

"Lucy!" I heard John call from the other room. "You need to see this!"

Dusting the sand from my hands, I stepped away from the droid that I was tinkering with. The shop had been slow that afternoon, so I knew it wasn't about a customer. John was sitting at our small terminal with a frown on his face. "What is it?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Read this," he said, pointing to the screen. "I don't even know how this reached us." I felt him watching my reaction as I read the transmission, my expression becoming like a mask. A deep sigh fell from my lips.

"I must go," I concluded. I sensed John's disagreement, but he didn't argue.

By evening, the blazing heat of the day was a pleasant warmth radiating from the earth. The cantina down the street was familiar to me, perhaps giving me a false sense of confidence. The barkeep knew exactly what I asked after, and directed me to the upstairs balcony right away.

A breeze swept over the rooftops of the desert town that I called home. It was a peaceful feeling after a long day of perspiration. Sand crunched under my boots as I subconsciously paced the private space, and my light cotton shirt fluttered in the breeze. I forced myself to anchor my hands to the limestone railing, standing still as I became fixated on the stars. I breathed deeply and slowly to calm myself.

The cantina song wafted through the air, dull and melodic, and I wondered if he could hear it yet. A sudden burst of volume signaled someone's entry to the balcony, and my back automatically straightened.

"Lucia?"

The voice was raw and close to unfamiliar. I whirled to take in the sight of a figure in a black cloak, face obscured by a hood. When he saw my face, he pulled it back. The years had softened his face, smoothing edges that had appeared before their proper time. His dark hair was cropped short, adding to his youthful appearance, and his clothes were plain. I stared for what felt like minutes.

And then he smiled.


End file.
